Halamshiral
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: What happens when the Blight Quest leaves the Warden too damaged to function? His friends step in to help. M!Mahariel/Alistair. Rated M for mention of recent past icky things and some smut. M/M, F/F.
1. Chapter 1

I know, I know. I've got two other stories going on. But I got to talking to pennies-4-eyes the other night and we had this big discussion about hurt/comfort and what it was and what good hurt/comfort was. We also talked about how a lot of Dalish aren't particularly Dalish seeming and how foreign everything from Ostagar on would seem to them and the result of all this was that we both decided to write Dalish stories with male Dalish protagonists-at some unspecified point in the near future. And then Zevran got all chatty on me, so here you are. I've not forgotten _Corin,_ I'm just taking the deep breath before the plunge into all that battle stuff. Hope you enjoy!

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><p>Orson Saltwell woke confused. He was not in his bed in the rather squalid rooms he'd been reduced to since his fortunes had changed so drastically two months ago. Instead, he found himself tied to a heavy wooden chair, in what looked like another run-down room with few furnishings other than a rickety table, a couple of chairs and a cot. A rather nice lamp, looking out of place here, illumined the surroundings with a pleasant, golden light.<p>

"Ah, you are back with us at last, Master Saltwell," a mellow voice with an Antivan accent said from behind him. The speaker moved into his range of vision-a handsome elf clad in expensive drake skin armor with the tanned skin common to Antiva's northern latitudes. Wheat-gold hair fell to his shoulders and his left cheek was adorned with the swirls of an abstract tattoo. "It took some time to find you, I will have you know. You covered your tracks well. But I have an associate who is very good at ferreting such information out."

Saltwell tried his bonds. An expert at binding people securely so that they could be tortured, he could tell there was no getting out of the ropes, which felt as if they might have wire in the core of them. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, or who paid you to solve _their_ problem, but I have money too," he wheedled in what he hoped was a reasonable tone, his stomach clenching in fear. "I know I don't look like it, but I have a couple of caches hidden. Let me loose and I'll take you to them."

"Under normal circumstances, I might be tempted," the elf said with a regretful smile. "But these are hardly normal circumstances. I was not hired to capture you. This is a labor of love."

"What is this about?"

"As many victims as you have had over the years, I imagine it must be confusing." The sympathy in the elf's voice was patently false. "Orson Saltwell, head jailor of Fort Drakon. Rendon Howe's favorite torturer-aside from himself, of course. Even at one a day, the score mounts up quickly. And you and Howe did a _lot _more than one a day."

"I'll have you know that any interrogations I did were under the sanction of the Arl of Denerim and the Regent of Ferelden!" Saltwell blustered.

"Tssssk. We both know that is not true, at least in part," the elf said reproachfully. "Yes, some of what you did was at Arl Howe or Teyrn Loghain's order. But at least as much was just because you _liked_ hurting people. You needn't try to deny it. You're hardly the first I've known with such…tastes after all. But indulging those tastes can be very expensive in the long run. Because the more you indulge them, the more potential enemies you make."

"So who is this about, exactly?"

"Lhaine Mahariel."

"The Warden?"

"The Hero of Ferelden. Who managed to kill the Archdemon despite what you had done to him mere days before."

"He killed Rendon Howe! The Regent ordered that he be interrogated!"

"What you did hardly counts as interrogation."

Despite the danger he knew himself to be in, Saltwell could not resist a sneer. "Oh, is _that_ what this is about? He was a good piece, I'll grant you. He give you any, you knife-eared bastard, after my boys and I got done with him? Showed him what _real men_ could do?"

Something only half-seen but disturbing flickered behind the golden eyes for a moment. "Actually, it's not like that at all. He's a dear friend. And the best man I've ever met."

"Best knife-ear, don't you mean? Doesn't count as a man."

"Neither do you." The dagger came seemingly out of nowhere, impaling his left hand to the heavy arm of the chair. Saltwell screamed.

"Ah, but I am remiss!" the elf said when the noise had died down. "Let me introduce myself. I am Zevran Arainai; former Crow, adventurer and sometime assassin. Also Blight Companion. As such I have, as you might imagine, connections. But even with those connections-you are in the profession in a manner of speaking and will appreciate this I am sure-it is extremely difficult to procure lanthrax in Ferelden." Arainai pulled a small vial out of the pouch on his belt. "So difficult, in fact, that I had to dispose of your accessories in that particular crime by more mundane means." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Messy means at that. Took forever to get the blood off my armor, I can tell you. But you, Master Saltwell, were the instigator and ringleader and as such deserve _special _treatment. I hope you appreciate the trouble I've gone to on your behalf." The vial moved towards the blade of the knife.

Saltwell tried to move his hand, sickened a little by the feel as the flesh slid upwards the tiniest bit on the blade, widening the wound. But his wrist was bound too tightly to move further. He whimpered.

"Oh come now!" the assassin scoffed. "It's not like all of _your _fingers are broken! Even with magical healing he will feel that and what you did to his legs to the end of his days." The mouth of the vial tipped, hit the blade. A viscous substance dribbled down it to the wound on Saltwell's hand. The torturer shrieked.

"And there you go," the elf said, a pleased expression coming over his countenance.

"Antidote! You must have an antidote!" Saltwell cried. "Whatever you want, I can help you! I have friends!"

"Of course I have an antidote. What sort of assassin do you take me for?" Arainai's smile was coolly contemptuous. But you have no friends left, Master Saltwell. And you have nothing you can give me. Save for your extremely painful, extremely prolonged death, of course."

Orson Saltwell fell to screaming and cursing then, the vilest imprecations he could think of spewing from his lips, interspersed with cries for help in the hope that someone would hear and come. The elf simply listened with an air of polite attentiveness on his face.

"We are in the Alienage, just so you know," he said. "The elves know who you are and what you did to the Warden. The same _elvish_ Warden who saved them all from the darkspawn. None of them are going to interfere. In fact, several of them volunteered to _help_. I had recruits lined up all around the _vhenendahl_."

Despite what Arainai said, the door opened and Saltwell looked hopefully towards the opening. But instead of succor, the City Guard he'd been avoiding for the last two months, there was nothing but a young human woman, also clad in drake skin like the assassin. She was red-haired and beautiful, carrying a market basket on her arm.

"Ah, my nightingale, you return. And is that roast chicken I smell? You are a goddess!"

"Roast chicken, those wonderful spicy roast potatoes and vegetables we had the other day, cheese and fruit and _this_," she said in a lilting Orlesian accent, producing a bottle that looked to be of venerable age.

"Most excellent!" Arainai exclaimed. "Come, put it over here." He gestured to the table and helped the young woman set out the food and plates and goblets.

"Miss! Please! You have to help me!" Saltwell pleaded.

Glacial blue eyes turned on him. "I think not! After all the trouble I had finding you?" She looked at the sweating Saltwell, then at Zevran Arainai. "First stage?"

He nodded. "Indeed. I waited for you. We're just getting started."

The complete lack of sympathy for Saltwell's plight on her attractive face horrified the torturer. He was even more horrified when she pulled a handful of sovereigns out of her purse and put them down on the table. "Stage six." Recollecting the countless times he and his men had made casual bets on some prisoner's stamina or willpower, it was totally demoralizing to be the subject of such a thing himself.

The assassin grinned, a flash of perfect white teeth. "I am feeling lucky today." He pulled out sovereigns of his own. "He's too evil to die easily. He'll go all the way. Stage seven."

As the two settled down to enjoy their dinner and watch him die, an incongruous thought flitted through Orson Saltwell's panicked brain. _How can eyes the color of the sun be so cold?_

* * *

><p>"Ah, Zev. Thanks for coming. I've got something for you."<p>

"Indeed, Your Incredibly Buff Magesticness? I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear it! I have been waiting for this day-"

"Zev, do you mind? I'm serious here." Alistair Theirin furrowed his brow and gave his aching forehead a rub. _I spend too much time in this office, _he thought. _I need to get out more._

"I am serious as well, my luscious liege." Seeing the king's pointed glare, the assassin subsided.

"Sergeant Kylon sent me a report. It seems bodies have been turning up in back alleys all over Denerim. Five of them, in fact."

"There is nothing so extraordinary about that, my studly king. This is Denerim, after all. That is a little more than usual, but not by much."

"Yes, that's true," Alistair agreed, trying to stick to the facts and ignore the florid appellations. "But the interesting thing about this is that these bodies all have something in common. They all used to work as jailors in Fort Drakon."

Zevran assumed an expression of polite interest. "Indeed? What a coincidence!"

Alistair's hazel eyes narrowed. "Yes. It is. Want to know something else interesting? One of them was the head jailor. Orson Saltwell. Kylon says it looks like he died very badly. Of poison, most likely." He leaned back in his chair, eyes intent upon his friend. "I thought you might look into it for me. Help Kylon out."

Zevran shrugged. "I could, but I doubt I could add anything useful to his investigation. If it is a Crow connection the good sergeant is worried about, I can assure you there are currently no Crows in Denerim."

"I'm sure he'll find that disappointing. Are you certain you can offer no help in this matter?"

"I'm afraid not, Alistair." Zevran's tone was dripping with regret. "The good sergeant is on his own where this matter is concerned. I am sure it is simply coincidence that the five men who violated Lhaine Mahariel on a certain night in Fort Drakon are all dead now. After all, Ferelden is a place known for its miraculous coincidences. Like you and Lhaine surviving the Tower of Ishal, finding the Ashes of Andraste, managing to end a Blight in just a year…the list just goes on and on." Limpid golden eyes met hazel, held them for a long moment.

"Maker!" Alistair groaned. "_You_ did it, didn't you?"

"What can I say?" Another fluid shrug of the shoulders. "Each craftsman to his trade. Your horse throws a shoe, you get a farrier. Your roof starts leaking, you get a thatcher. You want a bunch of evil-minded, torturing, rapist thugs gone, you get an assassin."

"Zevran Arainai, I didn't ask you-"

"No, you didn't. This was done all on my own. Well, not entirely on my own. Leliana helped. Because this needed to be done. For all of us, for him and for you."

"Have you heard anything from him?" The question was almost inaudible.

"No. Have you?"

The king nodded, picking up a letter on his desk. "He dictated this to Lanaya. It came yesterday. You can read it if you like. It's not like it's a love note or anything."

"Did you _want_ it to be a love note?" Zevran asked, taking the letter, his eyebrow arched.

"I want…Maker, I don't know _what_ I want any more," Alistair said morosely. "All I _know_ is that there's this Lhaine-shaped hole right _here_," he indicated the space at his right side, "and it _hurts_. But I also saw how he was at the celebration. His control was hanging by a thread because there were too many people around him. Too many _shems. _He couldn't put his back to a wall and he needed to and he was terrified that he'd lash out at someone. It was the celebration that made him decide to go south with Ashalle, you know. 'I am too angry still and I have no control over it,' is what he told me. Having to go out and show himself to the crowd afterwards damn near killed him." The new-crowned King of Ferelden got up and began to pace about the room as Zevran read.

_Alistair,_

_Keeper Lanaya is being kind enough to write this for me. A letter from my own pen would be much messier and use much shorter words! Ashalle and I arrived at Ostagar with Lanaya's clan quite safely. The weather held most cooperatively and it was a very restful trip. I did not realize how much I missed the creaking of moving aravels until I heard the sound once again. And it is nice to be with the halla once more._

_With winter coming on there is little we can do at present in the way of actual construction, but the dwarves you sent are surveying things and starting to make plans for the spring. The Shaper they have with them is enjoying comparing what is left of the actual Tevinter construction with the ancient contracts for the work that still exist in the Shaperate._

_Lanaya would like to know what you want us to do about any remains of Wardens or soldiers we discover. We've already encountered some and have left them where they are for now, thinking that you might send someone in the spring to take an accounting and return them to their families if identification is possible or make other arrangements. We are marking the locations of those we have found already so that they may be more easily discovered again when the snow melts. The Warden-Commander has not yet been found. I do not know if he will be, but if he is, I will write to you immediately for guidance._

_I am sorry that I could not stay with you, Alistair. I know that this is a difficult time for you and that you have much to learn and adjust to. Please know that if there had been any way I could have stayed, I would have. You did not wish for the burden of the throne and I promised to help you if you came to it, and then failed in that promise. I apologize again for that. It pains me to be foresworn and to know that I failed you. I wish you well always and hope that the upcoming holiday season is a happy one for you._

_Your Warden brother,_

_Lhaine Mahariel_

The signature was in a different hand than the text; Lhaine's own, Zevran realized and realized also that he'd never seen it before. But then, Lhaine had only become barely functionally literate in the last year. "A friendly letter in truth," he said when he had finished. "But to me at least, there are hints of something else."

"Nice to know it wasn't just me imagining that. But it's the part about him thinking he failed me that gets to me," Alistair said, pausing momentarily to take the letter back and set it gently down on the desk. "Lhaine never failed me. I understand that he was hurting too much to stay."

"Very commendable of you. But I ask you again, my friend-what is it you want?"

"I don't really have the right to want anything," Alistair said with a shrug, resuming his pacing. "When I first understood that Lhaine was interested in…being with me, I should have done something then. But I was too shy and confused and when he realized that I hadn't ever…you know, he backed off so that I could make up my mind. Then Drakon happened, and now he won't want anything like that ever again."

"Not necessarily," the assassin demurred. "I've been raped before myself, Alistair. More than once. Such is the price of being devastatingly attractive and of lower rank in the Crows." The king turned to him, startled. "And no, it is not something I care to discuss with you, for it does leave its marks. But as you are well aware, despite those experiences I still have sex and enjoy it. You are not one of the people who raped Lhaine and you are a person he trusts. It would be possible eventually, I think, for you to be together in that way if you both really wanted it."

"But were you ever tortured?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Never to the extent of what Lhaine endured, but withstanding torture is part of the Crow training regimen. And now that you've brought up all that unpleasantness, the least you can do is wear a hole in the floor to some _good_ purpose and go over to the side table and get me a brandy." Zevran popped his hip up onto Alistair's desk and watched as the King of Ferelden served as his drinks waiter. Alistair also poured himself a big glass, the assassin noted with approval. The Chantry Boy had done a deal of growing up in this last year.

"In any event, whether he can want that sort of thing or not is irrelevant," Alistair said after he'd brought Zevran his drink and taken a sip of his own. "I'm the _King_. I have to marry some woman and make lots of little kinglets if I can. And Lhaine's a Warden and the Hero of Ferelden. He's not my knife-ear boy-toy. I know there have been plenty of Kings who married for policy and got their kicks on the side, but I wouldn't do that to him. I respect him and I think…I think that maybe the only thing I _can_ do for him is to be the best King I can be and try to make this a kingdom where there are no alienages and _everyone_ is a first-class citizen-mages and humans and elves and dwarves alike."

There was a long moment of silence. Alistair took another swig of brandy and looked up to find Zevran regarding him thoughtfully over his own glass.

"And just when did you become a man of vision, I wonder?" the assassin mused.

"One night in Fort Drakon," Alistair replied, his eyes hazel flint of a sudden. "Listening while they did that to him in the next room. I decided then that I _needed_ to become King, so that I could try to make Ferelden a kingdom in which things like that didn't happen. Ever again."

"You do realize that such idealistic Kings seldom last long, don't you, my friend?"

The mulish look of determination Alistair Theirin was known to display when facing dragons, revenants or Archdemons manifested itself. "Then so be it. But I'm damn well going to _try_."

"The Chant says that such worthy efforts lead us all towards the Light, even when they fail," Zevran said, approval in his amber eyes. "It will be interesting to watch your attempt." He took a sip of his own brandy, then swirled it about in his glass for a moment. "I was thinking…I _could_ go to Ostagar and see how Lhaine is, if you would like."

"_You_, Zev? Ride south? Into the snow and the cold? What have I done to deserve such loyalty?"

Zevran shrugged. "Been a good friend? Saved my life how many times now?" He gave Alistair one of his rare, direct looks. "I am worried about him too, and unlike you, my presence is not required at the First Day festivities. Isn't this going to be your first big chance to enact courtship rituals with half the kingdom's eligible young women?"

"Don't remind me," Alistair groaned.

"Come now, Alistair! It is not as bad as all that! There is not a nubile maid in the kingdom, no matter how gorgeous or well-born, that you cannot have."

"The nubile maids all come with strings, Zevran."

"Uncharacteristically clever of you to realize that."

"_Please_ don't come over all Anora on me."

"And how is our favorite former queen?"

"Still in the tower. Which is where she'll stay until she's willing to swear fealty to me. And if she doesn't do it soon, Gwaren's going to someone else."

"Have you told her that?"

"Yes."

"_Yourself?"_

"Yes."  
>"My, but you've grown a great, big, swollen pair, haven't you?"<p>

"Yes."

Zevran chuckled. "I would have paid good money to see that! Very well, my friend, I can leave in the morning if you wish."

"That would be wonderful," Alistair said, tossing the last of his drink back. "I'll see that you've got a Royal Guard escort. And a sizeable purse so you don't have to camp out until it's absolutely necessary. Not that there are a lot of inns in that direction."

"That is sadly too true. The things I do for you…" Zevran sighed theatrically, set his glass down, got up off the desk and sauntered towards the door.

"Speaking of things you do, or rather that other thing you did," the King said softly, "thank you, Zev. Maker forgive me, but I'm glad those men are dead."

Zevran Arainai turned and swept Alistair a deep bow. For once, there was no mockery in it. "As am I, Your Majesty. As am I. No thanks are necessary." Then he was out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to millelibri for the review and to the folks that alerted this story. I'm continuing this one for you! I must say, I'm a little surprised to find that this has become such a Zev-centric fic. Not that that's bad thing...

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><p>"You are trespassing upon Dalish land, <em>shemlen,<em>" the elves said as they stepped out from behind the trees. "Granted to us by King Alistair."

"Pushy lot, aren't they?" one of the men behind Zevran muttered. "Give them a patch of mud and rock to call their own and the elves get uppity." Zevran turned his head and gave the man a quelling look, also taking the opportunity to remember his features. He then turned back to the elves.

"I am Zevran Arainai, friend to Lhaine Mahariel. I bring him a message from the King."

"I remember you, Master Arainai," one of the female elves said. "You are welcome in our camp, but the _shems_ cannot stay here."

"That is understood." Zevran turned to his escort. "Go back to the village and wait for me there. I will send word." He gave the king's purse to the captain of the escort, who was not the man who'd spoken earlier. "Stay warm, Captain, and enjoy yourselves. Thank you for coming out here with me."

"It was an honor, Master Arainai. We will await your word."

"It should not be longer than a week. If it is, then I will send you back to Denerim and find my own way back."

"Very well, ser." Zevran dismounted his horse, pulling his saddlebags and bedroll off, then handed the reins to one of the guardsmen. The captain saluted him and turned the small troop around, trotting off back towards the road and civilization. Zevran turned back towards the elf who had spoken.

"How are you, Mithra, besides lovely as usual?"

She snorted. "You have not changed, Zevran Arainai."

"Does that mean there is still no hope for me?"

Her green eyes glinted with amusement. "According to the Creators, all _elvhen _are capable of enlightenment and change. But I suspect you might be the one exception."

The hand that wasn't holding his saddlebags and bedroll clutched his chest in mock sorrow. "Ah! You wound me!"

"Not yet. But it could happen." Zevran chuckled. Mithra gestured towards the trees, from which he could see some smoke rising. "Come, our camp is this way. Let me get you to a fire. Any guest should be treated with courtesy. Even you."

The Dalish camp was laid out much as Zevran remembered in the Brecilian forest-the aravels scattered about in a loose grouping, with several communal camp fires distributed throughout the camp. Playing children running through the camp stopped in their tracks for a moment to stare at the stranger, then took up their pastimes again. Mithra led him to the largest campfire, where the storytelling benches were. They'd been brushed clean of snow, but it was starting to come down again.

Zevran set his belongings on one of the benches to keep them out of the wet, then went to the fire and held his numb, mittened hands to it, savoring the warmth. He truly hated the cold and there had been so few times he'd actually felt warm since coming to Ferelden. In the height of summer, perhaps. And definitely down in Orzammar. A city with a river of lava running through it tended to be cozy place to say the least. That warmth had almost caused him to overlook his dislike of dwarves-until said dwarves kept coming up with one suicidal condition after another to gain their cooperation.

"Bide here for a time," Mithra said. "I will send someone for the Mahariel. If you will forgive me, I must return to my post."

"I am devastated, but I will endeavor to survive, lovely one. My thanks to you."

The elf snorted once more; then, shaking her head, she slipped back off into the gathering dusk.

Zevran waited for a few minutes, actually removing his gloves to properly warm his hands, feeling oddly alone in the camp full of people. No one else spoke to him, though he was the recipient of many curious glances. Not all of the elves he saw were from Zathrian's clan-there was obviously at least one more clan camped here. The snow was coming down faster and he was just considering going to look for Lhaine himself, when a figure came towards him out of the snow and Lhaine's pleasant voice spoke his name in astonishment.

"_Zevran_? What in Andruil's name are you _doing _here? Not that it isn't good to see you! Creators, they left you standing out here? Come with me, let me get you inside. Ashalle is cooking dinner, we've more than enough for you. _Aneth ara, lethallin_."

"It is good to see you as well, Lhaine," Zevran said warmly, giving his friend a quick look-over from head to toes. _He's thinner, and he looks weary. But he seems cheerful enough. The hair is different. _Lhaine's customary tightly bound braid at the back of his head was gone. Instead, there were two small braids at the sides of his head, keeping the hair back out of his eyes and the rest was a pale gold river falling down about his shoulders. It only enhanced his extraordinary looks. And he wasn't wearing his armor, clad instead in a quilted leather coat and breeches and boots.

Lhaine was still one of the most beautiful men, elf or man, Zevran had ever known. And yet, for some odd reason, he was totally unmoved by that beauty, other than by an aesthetic appreciation of it. He was not sure why that was. Perhaps it was because they were very much alike in coloring, aside from the difference in the color of their eyes and Lhaine's lighter skin, and lusting after Lhaine would have seemed like lusting after his own brother. Zevran did actually have some boundaries, although you had to go a far way to find them…Whatever the reason, the sexual disinterest was actually rather relaxing and left him free to appreciate Lhaine as a friend only. The dearest friend he had ever had, not that the Crows had allowed friends.

That friend now took up his bedroll and bags and slung them over his own shoulder. "Come. Ashalle is waiting for us."

* * *

><p>Zevran had seen the insides of aravels before, long ago when as a boy he had run from the Crows to briefly join a Dalish tribe. This one was a particularly lovely specimen, with ornate carving covering almost every surface inside and small lanterns lighting it Ashalle was standing at the small metal stove, stirring a pot from which savory odors arose.<p>

"Ah! Master Arainai!" she exclaimed without turning her attention from the pot. "_Andaran atish'an! _You come in a good hour-dinner is almost ready. There is wash water, Lhaine," she said , indicating a small pot beside the larger one on the stove.

"Thank you, _Mamae_."

Lhaine wrapped a cloth around the handle and took it to a larger basin partially filled with snow, that sat upon a little table folded down from the wall. He poured the water in and tested it with his finger.

"There. Good and warm. Zevran, would you care to wash up?" Zevran was only too glad to make use of the warm water and the woodsy-smelling soap. He dried his hands on the towel provided and stepped back so that Lhaine could wash as well. When they had finished Lhaine took the bowl of water outside, dumped it, swished a little snow around inside to wash it out, then brought it back in and set it in the niche prepared for it. He then pulled a folding chair down off the wall and set it out of the way.

"Sit, Zev. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You never told me what brought you all the way down here in the middle of winter."

Zevran took the chair and leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching as Lhaine pushed the little table up into the wall and let a larger one down, then pulled two more chairs down and commenced setting the table with cutlery and dishes from a cabinet set into the wall. His movements held the unconscious grace of long habit and Zevran could see no sign of the injuries to his legs.

"Alistair was very glad to get your letter. He answered you back. I volunteered to bring it."

"And since when is the mighty Zevran Arainai reduced to being Alistair Theirin's post boy?"

"He asked so prettily with those big, hazel puppy eyes of his that I could not resist."

Lhaine chuckled. "He can almost out-do Dagger in that department."

"By the way, where is the walking flea circus?"

"He's under the wagon. He's got a bed box up off of the ground, attached to the bottom of the aravel-Master Varathorn helped me build it. It's all enclosed and has cushions in it and a hide for a door. Dagger likes it. He tried sleeping in here at night, but there's not a lot of room and he'd have to wake someone to let him out if he needed to go. And we kept falling over him in the morning. This way, he comes and goes as he pleases. We'll take him supper after dinner and you can say hello."

Ashalle had her back to them, putting the final touches on the meal, so she did not see the pointed look at her back her foster son gave her, nor the cocked eyebrow he shot at Zevran, his green eyes glinting. Zevran suppressed a smile at the subtle invitation to private conversation later. Lhaine obviously did not believe that the letter was Zevran's only reason for coming.

Dinner was dished out in short order after that-a hearty venison stew and fresh-baked bread with halla butter and honey.

"_Mamae _is getting a house built in the spring," Lhaine said as they ate. "The very first one here. Can you imagine it?"

"I am getting the first house only because I am _the Mahariel's_ _mamae_," Ashalle laughed. "It is through no great virtue of mine! Everyone wants him to have a place he can call home here. He is _hahren_ now, everyone has agreed upon that."

"_Hahren_? Like Hahren Valendrian in the alienage? You're in charge here?" Zevran asked in surprise. _Lhaine seems to be putting down roots here with a vengeance!_

"No, it is not quite the same thing," Lhaine said. "The city elves do not remember it correctly. A _Hahren_ among the Dalish is an…elder I guess you would say? I am not speaking of age, but…accomplishment? A person worthy of respect? There are several of us here. We sit on a Council to make the decisions our new land requires."

"Sounds like you are very busy."

"Oh, he is," Ashalle said with pride. "He is on the Council and he goes out with hunting parties with the _falon'fen_ and he leads us when the _harelen_ come."

"_Harelen_?

"'Dread children.' The darkspawn," Lhaine explained. "It doesn't happen often-we mostly encounter remnants trying to get back below ground. But there's no sense risking anyone else getting tainted. Dagger and I can usually deal with them blade to blade while the others shoot from a distance." He glanced at the wall, where his Warden armor was hung and smiled a little. "I suppose I eventually ought to send word to the First Warden that I am the Warden of Halemshiral."

"I thought that was the name of the capital of the Dales."

"It was. It means 'journey's end'. So far, we've not been able to come up with anything we like better for this new land. When more of our kindred join us, perhaps something else will occur that everyone can agree upon. Or perhaps the Creators will tell us."

"I wish that _our_ clan was here," Ashalle put in a little sadly. "This is a nicer place than where they are now, camped on a mountain near one of our oldest graveyards close to that wretched Kirkwall city. There is something about that place that makes me shiver! Lhaine has spoken of going to get them. But our halla are dead-they died on the passage across the water. It will take time for the herds of the other clans to increase enough that they can spare us the halla for a new herd." A shadow crossed Lhaine's face at the reminder. Zevran recollected how good he had been with the halla of Zathrian's clan. For a clan to lose all of its halla must be the worst possible blow.

"I know that Lhaine must be glad you remained with him, Mistress Ashalle. But as attached as the Dalish are to their clans, I am a bit surprised that you did."

"Twice across the water on one of those accursed _shemlen_ ships is enough for me!" Lhaine's foster mother declared. "A third time and a fourth to come back would be the end of me, I am sure! No, I will wait here for them. There is much to do here and Lhaine and I can represent the Sabrae until they arrive."

_Hahren. Grey Warden. Representative of the Sabrae clan, _Zevran thought a bit despondently. _Alistair may be hoping for Lhaine's return, but the reasons for him to stay here seem to be piling up at a rapid rate!_

A bowl of baked spiced apples served as dessert. Lhaine had eaten lightly throughout the meal, just enough to lay Ashalle's concern to rest but without his usual rapacious Grey Warden appetite. Zevran, however, had no compunction about stuffing himself-the food was really _very_ good-and patted his stomach when the meal was over. "Mistress Ashalle, thank you for a most excellent meal! Please, let me help with the washing up."

"Your friend is so very polite, Lhaine!" Ashalle said with a pleased smile. "But I could not let you do that, Master Arainai. You are our guest. Why don't you go with Lhaine and take the _falon'fen _his dinner? I know that the two of you must have much to talk about. My next door neighbor is heating some wash water as we speak-it is her turn. We will do our dishes together and gossip about Lhaine's handsome guest, the elf from the country where there is no winter." She laughed. "You must tell me some tales of Antiva to share with her."

"It would be my pleasure," Zevran said. "Oh! That reminds me." He went to where his packs had been placed on one of the beds and rifled through them, coming up with a bottle. Giving the bottle to Ashalle, he said, "A small guest-gift, if you will accept it. This is brandy from Antiva. They say you can almost taste the sunshine and flowers in it. Share that with your friend."

Ashalle took the bottle carefully. "Master Arainai, you should not have. This must have been dreadfully expensive!"

"Not so much as all that, and the expense is certainly of no account when it comes to the beautiful _mamae_ of my best friend. I hope that you will enjoy it."

Ashalle actually giggled and Lhaine shook his head and laughed. "Stop flirting with _Mamae_, Zev! She'll be red as a rose for the rest of the winter!" He was pulling on his coat and gloves, and held Zevran's out to him. "Let's go see to Dagger and then you can show me that letter you risked death by freezing to bring."

* * *

><p>Dagger remembered Zevran very well, giving him a friendly nudge with his huge head and a furious wag of his tiny tail. He courteously refrained from licking in the cold weather. His coat was thicker than Zevran remembered ever seeing it and he looked very glossy and fit. Living with the Dalish obviously agreed with him. Dagger accepted the venison haunch Lhaine had retrieved from a hanging cache in the trees with much happiness. The two elves left him to his gnawing and tearing, walking though the camp in the falling snow, lit at intervals with the bluish elven lanterns. Most folk had retired inside their aravels for the night except for those who had chores to do and the camp was very quiet.<p>

Lhaine paused beneath one of the lanterns that was beneath an evergreen tree and held out his hand. "Letter? You did bring it with you, didn't you?"

Zevran fished inside his coat's inner pocket. "Here you are."

"Thank you. Am I supposed to tip the courier?"

The assassin's grin flashed whitely in the night. "Only if you are so inclined."

Lhaine smiled, shaking his head as he broke the seal on the letter, then moved closer to the light to read, bent over it a little to keep the snow from it, though the tree blocked most of that. Alistair's hand was bold and a bit untidy, with lots of words underlined for emphasis.

_Dear Lhaine-_

_You __never __failed me in __anything__, please don't think that you did. I understand why you had to leave. More than anything, I want you to be able to find peace with yourself and if finding it means that you stay with your own people, then I understand that, though I will miss you __very __much. I don't consider you foresworn __in the least__, please don't beat yourself up over leaving Denerim. Just heal if you can-that's all I really want. Eamon and Teagan are helping me with the king thing. I think you actually see people more clearly than they do, but they do have Ferelden's best interests at heart. Zev and Leli have helped too, so you needn't worry that I'm trying to deal with this by myself. And I can't __stop__ Wynne from putting her oar in, whether I want her to or not!_

_Your idea about the bodies sounds just fine. I would appreciate a word if you do stumble across Duncan. I'd probably want to come down and get him, maybe take him back to Highever. It sounds like there are a lot of big plans going on down there-I'm assuming they're keeping you busy. Once you get actually start building things, maybe I'll be able to make a progress down there and see what you've done. In the meantime, know that you are welcome at court __any time__. _

_Your friend,_

_Alistair_

"So-aside from the letter, why are you _really_ here?" Lhaine asked when he was done reading, and had folded the letter back up with a small smile and put it in his own coat.

"Alistair was worried about you. I volunteered to come down and see how you were doing." Zevran cocked an eyebrow. "And how are you doing, by the way?"

The Hero of Ferelden shrugged. "I don't sleep well at all-but that's nothing new. I don't have much appetite despite the Grey Warden thing. I _don't _like people coming up on me suddenly-Cammon took my shoulder from behind one day and I nearly skewered him. People make sure that I see them coming now. I have to work really hard at holding my temper in council." He sighed and began walking again. "I'd like to think the day will come when the wrong voice, the wrong trick of light, the thing seen out of the corner of my eye won't throw me back to Drakon, but it hasn't happened yet. Every morning I wake thinking that and every day I'm disappointed."

They were passing the storyteller's circle, the firepit cold and dark. Lhaine's voice was soft, eerie in the muffled air like that of a spirit speaking across time. "I never asked him to do it, Zevran, to go to Morrigan. She came to me first, did you know? I wasn't opposed to what she wanted. But it was right after Drakon. I couldn't stand to be touched and I couldn't bring myself to let her spell me to make it happen. I would have if I could have, to save him. But I didn't expect him to do it for me. I told him afterwards that he should have just let me go. I was more than willing. I left him at the gate for a reason."

"I know that," came Zevran's quiet response. "But he loves you, my friend."

"And I love him. Poor Alistair."

"You don't give him enough credit. He sees you clearer than you think. It is not the Hero of Ferelden he wants back, but Lhaine Mahariel."

Lhaine stopped walking suddenly and turned to Zevran. "And what exactly am I supposed to _do_ if I go back, Zev?" he asked in frustration. "Just stand around and let sculptors make statues of me all day? Listen to the nobles make snarky comments about jumped-up Dalish? Creators know I never asked for this! I didn't _want _to love a _shemlen_ man, much less one who is a king! I cannot be his queen and I _will not_ be his toy!"

"He knows that. He does not want you to be his toy either. He said as much to me just before I left. But he misses you very badly."

"I know. And I miss him." Lhaine's expression was suddenly desolate. "I think sometimes that maybe…just maybe I could _sleep_ in his arms. And I would so very much like to try that it aches to think about it." His mouth tightened. "But there needs to be a Queen of Ferelden, and _she_ needs to be the one sleeping in his arms. It would be best for Alistair if I stayed here for the rest of my life and let him get on with his."

"And what would you do for the rest of your life, Lhaine?"

The Mahariel shrugged. "Fight the darkspawn, sit in council, do what I can to build Halamshiral into a going concern. Live my thirty, more or less. Die and be burned so as to not give the earth the Taint. Have my ashes buried beneath my tree, unmarked in the forest like any other Dalish."

Zevran, looking at him, wondered if he'd actually reach the thirty, more or less. Out here, away from Ashalle and the pretense of cheer he had to keep up before her, Lhaine seemed very much despairing. It would not even necessarily be intentional. Just reflexes slowed by not enough food, not enough sleep…Some common hurlock could take what the Archdemon could not one day…

_He has given, and given and given again. You reach the point where there is nothing left at the bottom of the well. He is scraped dry. I have to wonder if being with Alistair is the only thing that would help him. If he is, then Ferelden owes that to Lhaine, though she certainly won't see it that way! But there might be something else she could do for him that would help and might get him back up there to see Alistair as well…I remember what Ashalle said earlier…_

Aloud, he said, "If you wanted to go in the spring and bring the Sabrae back, Lhaine, Alistair might be able to find the money so you could do it."

Was that a flicker of interest in the tired eyes? "Without halla, I don't know how it could be done."

"Teams of horses could be hired to bring the aravels to the ships. And once they were across the water and in Ferelden, horses could haul them out of Amaranthine. Then your folk could bring halla up from here to bring them home."

The flicker brightened. "That is true! And it actually makes more sense than trying to take halla to them and go overland through Orlais. It could be done! But it would take three, four ships." Lhaine's face fell again. "That's a lot of money we're talking about Zev, just to bring more Dalish knife-ears back to Ferelden. I still have some, but not enough for that."

"The clan that is the Hero's family are hardly just any Dalish knife-ears. Let me at least go and see what I can arrange, will you?"

"Very well. But I should probably go over first, to talk to them about it. Marethari took the clan to Kirkwall because of something between her and _Asha'bellanar. _At least that's what Ashalle says._"_

Zevran frowned. "_Flemeth_ rearing her head again! Do you think it involves you?"

"I suppose it could, though I can't imagine why. I did not fight her after all. The only way to know is to go and ask, though I will admit I am not much enthused about going to a strange _shemlen_ city. I've been up in the Free Marches before, for the last _Arlathvhen _six years ago. But I never went near Kirkwall. It has an ugly reputation. There are slavers there, 'tis said."

"You would not be going alone. I would go with you and I'm sure Alistair would insist upon an honor guard."

A snort of laughter. "A _shemlen_ honor guard for a Dalish! Whatever is the world coming to!"

"A place it is past time coming to, if you ask me. You haven't heard him lately, Lhaine. He wants to make Ferelden a kingdom for everyone; elves and men and dwarves and mages alike. What happened to you changed him as well."

Lhaine's gloved hands rubbed together almost reflexively. "I know that. Afterwards, there wasn't any more whining about not wanting to be king. He just stood up and took the throne. Which proves, I suppose, that the old adage about it being a rare ill that doesn't do someone some good is true. If Alistair can accomplish that, Zevran, then I don't begrudge Ferelden my pain."

"Well _I_ begrudge it your pain!"

The beautiful smile Zevran loved flashed briefly across his friend's face. "You are a fine, fierce friend, Zevran Arainai. And no doubt a frozen one by now! Let's get you to a bed."

* * *

><p>Zevran found it interesting, and a bit dismaying, that Lhaine took all the coals out of the stove in a metal box on a handle and took them off to the main fire in the center of the camp that was always tended, night and day, before they went to bed.<p>

"The fire will eat all the air in the aravel if we leave it here all night-we keep it closed up during the winter. You'd wake up dead if we didn't take it away, Zev. But here-" and he showed the assassin the hot stones he'd brought back, well wrapped in cloth and handed him one. Put this at your feet. Just unwrap it a little."

The hot stone and the heavy, down-filled coverlets and the ridiculous quilted cap Lhaine made him put on actually meant that Zevran was quite cozy when he was snuggled down into the top-most bunk above Lhaine's. Certainly cozier than he'd been at some of their winter camps during the Blight quest. There were four bunks in the aravel, and of course Lhaine and Ashalle were using the two bottom ones. Both had volunteered to switch places with him, but Zevran had refused.

"This reminds me of home! You remember, Lhaine, what I told you about the Crow apprentices? Packed in like crates? I like it up here-it's the first cozy bed I've had since I came to this country!"

Since he was obviously sincere, they did not press about the matter, but wished him a good night and got into their own beds. After the usual amount of tossing and turning, everyone settled down and the aravel grew quiet. Zevran drifted off to sleep.

He woke in the middle of the night to some restless moving and a muffled cry from the bunk below him. Then there was some rustling and a sigh. "_Emma souveri," _came Lhaine's tired whisper after a moment. Zevran waited, watching through slitted eyes as his friend rose, pulled his clothing and boots on and going to the door, took down a cloak or blanket from a hook close by and opened it and stepped out, closing it softly behind him.

After a few moments, Zevran dropped soundlessly down from his bunk, casting a quick glance in Ashalle's direction. The elven woman was deeply asleep. Donning his own clothes and shoes and coat noiselessly, he too slipped out of the aravel, moving stealthily as possible once he had done so. Lhaine and he shared some skills in common. Zevran had even taught him some of the tricks of the assassin's trade. But though Lhaine was much the Antivan's superior when it came to picking locks and disarming traps, he had admitted more than once that no one could shadow a target like Zevran could; even a Dalish who had learned his stealth on the hunt.

Nonetheless, Zevran was cautious, keeping well back, given Lhaine's comments about skewering earlier. Dagger was a possible fly in the ointment-he could not hide from the mabari's nose-but the dog did not look to be awake. Or perhaps Lhaine had ordered him to stay back before Zevran left the aravel.

In any event, Dagger was not about and it was an easy enough task to follow the one set of footprints showing through the new layer of snow until he could see Lhaine's faint outline moving ahead of him. The snow had stopped falling, save for the occasional tiny flake and everything was absolutely silent. Zevran wondered where he was going for he was heading directly across the encampment to the far side. Eventually, the assassin could see the outline of a structure in the dark-a fence, and the sound of animals moving about and chewing.

_The halla pen_ he realized, and wondered what Lhaine could be doing here. He ghosted around to one side so that he could get a better view in the light of the lantern that stood near it.

Only a few of the halla were standing-most were laying down, asleep or just resting. Lhaine vaulted the fence easily and heads with those improbable horns all rose to watch him. Some of the standing halla came to great him and he spent some time stroking noses and foreheads and scratching about the bases of horns. Then one of them nudged him meaningfully. It looked like it was almost urging him someplace. That place appeared to be the back of the pen, where several halla had lain down close together under the cover of some overhanging trees.

Lhaine allowed himself to be nudged and pushed over to the group of halla. One of them within the center of the cluster lifted its head and made one of their expressive bleats. It sounded almost welcoming to Zevran, so he wasn't particularly surprised when Lhaine moved carefully through the prone halla to that particular one, wrapped his blanket around himself and settled down beside it, laying his head at the junction of its neck and shoulder. What was amazing was that the one on the other side of him carefully rose and then settled back down again, snuggling closer against him.

The herd settled once more. Lhaine, sandwiched between the two warm halla bodies, seemed comforted. Zevran was not close enough to know if he was actually sleeping, but he certainly wasn't tossing and turning as he had in the aravel.

Zevran watched a little while longer. He couldn't decide if what he had seen was beautiful, sad, comforting, tragic or all of the above. The cold leaching through his coat eventually brought his ruminations to an end and drove him back to the aravel to seek his own rest.

* * *

><p>"You followed me last night," Lhaine said matter-of-factly the next morning after breakfast. Zevran had awakened to find him back in the aravel, fixing porridge on the stove after having fired it again. They were outside, collecting wood from the communal pile to bring it back to the aravel.<p>

"I was stealthy! There is no way you could have seen me!" Zevran protested.

"I didn't see _you_," Lhaine agreed. "What I saw was the set of tracks that _weren't_ mine, leading to and from our aravel this morning. You didn't brush them out."

"_Basta!" _Zevran swore. His Dalish friend chuckled.

"City boy," he said fondly. Then, more seriously-"I hope you're not going to worry Alistair when you go back. He's got enough on his plate right now."

"I can make no guarantees about that, Lhaine. You know Alistair. He is a worry-wart. I could tell him everything was fine and he would still fret about you, at least a bit."

"Well, try to keep the fretting to a minimum if you would, Zev." This was said in the tone of voice that Zevran had not heard since he arrived-Lhaine's Commander voice. He'd always found it best to pay heed to it.

"I will do my best."

"That is all I can ask."


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks to mille libri and Ygraine33 for the lovely reviews and stimulating conversation. It's really helped with this story!

* * *

><p>Alistair welcomed back his volunteer Antivan post-boy with a seat near a roaring fire and some mulled wine. Zevran had clutched the warm tankard gratefully, leaning close to the blaze.<p>

"Ah! Civilization at last!" He gave the King a rueful grin. "I had wondered if my earlier disenchantment with the Dalish lifestyle was merely because I was so young and if I might not have a greater appreciation for it when I was older."

"And did you?" Alistair asked curiously, sipping his own wine.

"In some ways, yes. I am old enough to appreciate the way they cooperate among themselves and the way the benefit of the clan is considered before individual profit. But it is _camping_ when all is said and done, Alistair, albeit very fancy camping with wagons and I got more than my share of that during our travels. It will be interesting to see how having a homeland of their own will change the Dalish. To go from traveling all about Thedas to staying in one place, putting down roots…it is a profound change, after all. But you did not send me to study Dalish culture, but rather one Dalish in particular."

"Did he write me back?" Alistair asked, trying not to seem eager.

"There was no need. Very little time had passed and he had my most excellent self to pass his words on to you. Which are that he appreciates your understanding and that of course you are welcome to come any time you like. He was glad to hear from you, I think. Your letter cheered him."

"Then I'm very glad you went. Thank you again." Zevran inclined his head graciously, then took a deep draught of the wine.

"How was he _really_, Zev?"

The assassin swallowed and seemed to be marshaling his thoughts for a moment. At last, he said, "He puts on a good show for Ashalle. But he has not been eased as much by being back among his people as I had thought he would be. Perhaps even he expected to derive more comfort from it, though it is true that not very much time has passed since Drakon. Wounds that deep can be years healing, if they heal at all."

"What do you mean, he's not been eased?" Alistair asked, running his hand through his hair with a worried expression on his face.

"His temper is still uncertain, he says. He apparently nearly struck that Cammen lad when the boy laid a hand upon him from behind. Personally, I think a little smacking around would do Cammen good. I was not much impressed with that boy." The King snorted in agreement, then gestured for him to continue.

"He doesn't eat much, especially for a Warden. He has trouble sleeping as well. Three of the four nights I stayed, he ended up sleeping in the halla pen."

"_In the_ _halla pen_? I know better than most that animals can be comforting in the dead of night-" The King sputtered when Zevran snickered and he realized how what he had said had sounded. "Not like _that_, Zev! I used to sleep in a stable when I was a boy, remember? But out there in the cold like that?"

"I sneaked after him the first time he did it and watched. It was odd, but rather beautiful. The halla seemed to sense that he was in pain and in need of comfort. They actually encouraged him to lie down among them and moved closer to him, so that he would stay warm."

"Lhaine always did say that they weren't deer, and that they were smarter than horses," Alistair mused. "He must like it with them because they remind him he's not with us _shemlen_ anymore." His face fell as he considered the ramifications of that statement.

Zevran shrugged. "That may be part of it. But probably the greater part is that he doesn't wish to disturb his foster mother. He's a very restless sleeper, prone to nightmares even worse than during our travels. She's not a young woman and I think he does it so that she can have her rest."

"Oh. He always was a considerate person."

"And a busy one. He's certainly pulling his weight down there. There's a new council governing the place and he has a seat on it. And he hunts and fights the odd darkspawn. Apparently there are still a few wandering around down there. Dagger loves the life-he looks better than I've ever seen him. Ashalle says that since she and Lhaine are the only two Sabrae there, that they are the representatives for their clan."

"Wow. It sounds like he's got more than enough to do for his people." Alistair drank some more wine, looking decidedly morose. "He probably doesn't need to be coming back up here any time soon."

"That is what I thought as well, but…" Zevran trailed off, staring into the fire.

"But what?"

"Lhaine did say one thing I found interesting while I was there. But he also told me not to worry you, so I don't know if I should tell you or not. He's an evil person when he's crossed."

"So am I, Zev," Alistair said, striving to look dangerous. The assassin suppressed a smile as the bait was taken. "What did Lhaine say?"

"That he thought he might be able to actually sleep in your arms and the thought of it made him ache inside."

"Oh. _Oh._" Alistair's face lit up.

"I take it this is something you are glad to hear?"

"Yes! I really should go down there, see him myself." Then the enthusiasm left him. "But I've got all these ladies here right now, Zev. I don't think I can leave."

"How has the search for a queen gone on in my absence? Have you managed to muddle along without my expert romantic advice?"

"Well enough, I guess. We've had a hunt and a couple of dances. There's another tonight." The King sighed, looking glum. "I have to be careful. They're waiting to ambush me everywhere, the ladies. Maker, but I get tired of the tittering and giggling and batting of the eyes! Why they think it's appealing, I'll never know. I've got a guard on the door to my chambers at all times now to keep them out, after I found one in my bed."

"Such a sad life you lead, my friend! Could I have a couple of your cast-offs? Leli and I could have such fun with them!"

Alistair gave him a disgusted look. "It's not funny, Zev! I don't want to be _tricked_ into marrying someone!"

"Understandable. Is there no one among them you think you could stand to live with?"

"There's Bann Alfstanna. I've always liked her since the Landsmeet. She's sensible and really, really smart. Since I'd like my kids to be smarter than I am, that's a good thing. Also, she doesn't bat her eyes or titter. We just talk. Honestly, she's the only one who cares about anything other than gossip or her latest dress. We talk about the kingdom and her bannorn. She actually knows a lot about government. I've been thinking that she might not be a bad choice."

"You're being very logical about this, I must say. I'd be inclined to agree that Alfstanna would be a good choice except for one thing."

Alistair narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"That bodyguard of Alfstanna's?"

"Mistress Quicksilver?"

"She's a personal bodyguard. A very _personal _bodyguard, if you understand me." Zevran watched with covert amusement while the King worked this through.

"You mean Alfstanna and the elf…_do_ things together?" Alistair's ears began to redden.

"Why yes, that's exactly what I mean."

"Maker, that's…that's…" Alistair suddenly seemed to be having trouble focusing on the conversation and the red was creeping from his ears to his cheeks.

"A mental image that's very stimulating to _someone_, apparently."

"_Zev!"_

"Perhaps you should ask her if she'd let you watch sometime. As a loyal subject, how could she refuse?"

The King's face was now crimson. "You are _impossible_, Zevran Arainai!" he managed to choke out.

"Just pointing out a possible impediment to your very sensible plan, Your Majesty. Although…" The assassin tapped his slender fingers on his mug, looking thoughtful. "That might actually not be such a bad idea, provided Alfstanna were actually willing and able to bed you. Even if she were sleeping with someone else, it would be a woman. You'd always know your children were actually yours. And if you allowed her Mistress Quicksilver on the side, she might be willing to look the other way if you did want to give Lhaine that opportunity to sleep in your arms." He glanced over at the King, who was staring at him. Alistair was obviously both appalled and intrigued by the idea. "Now that I think on it, it's actually a _very_ sensible solution. Very Antivan of you."

"Zev, don't take this the wrong way, but after knowing you I never want to go anywhere _near _Antiva."

"And there you are being sensible again! That is probably just as well, my friend. I don't think you could handle it."

"I'll say!"

Zevran finished his wine and rolled the mug between his hands. "There is something else that occurred to me while I was down with Lhaine, Sire," he said mildly. "Something that might help with your situation. As you are aware, Lhaine's clan is not currently in Ferelden."

"That's true," Alistair said, scratching his head. "I had to send a ship to get his foster mother for the ceremony. They were in Kirkwall at the time. Have they moved?"

"No. And where they are troubles him. It is a mountain and it is…not a particularly healthy place. But their halla all died on the trip over. They have no way to come home over land and may not for several years. The other clans will donate halla to them, but they must wait until their herds increase enough to do that."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Neither does Lhaine. I'm afraid I was a bit forward. I hope you will forgive me. Ashalle had mentioned to me that Lhaine wished to go and fetch them back. Later on, when we were alone, I told Lhaine that I thought you might be willing to fund the ships to go do that. It was presumptuous of me, I know, but-"

"No, it's a good idea, Zev. If I can find the money, I certainly will. Thedas and Ferelden owe him so much! The least we can do is bring his people home." The King's brow furrowed in concern. "Is he up to a trip to a strange _shemlen_ city, do you think?"

"I told him that I would go with him. I suspect Leli would too, though I wasn't going to speak for her. And that you would send an honor guard. He was amused by that last."

"Definitely. He's not going _anywhere_ without a royal guard. The world will know how Ferelden values him." Alistair nodded firmly. "I'm glad you offered, Zev. You didn't overstep. But I don't see how it will really help my situation. He'll ship out of Amaranthine, most likely."

"Yes, but he will need to come see you about the arrangements first, or at least you can make it so. Or you could meet him in Amaranthine. It's close to Denerim. It's true you probably shouldn't go down to Ostagar right now, but I don't see why you couldn't take a jaunt to Amaranthine. In any event, you will see him and probably months earlier than you would have otherwise. In the early spring. To finalize things, if you agree to this."

Enthusiasm lit the King's face. "As I said, let me see where I can steal the funds from. But this is doable. Thanks, Zev! How would you like a seat on the Council? You come up with much better ideas than the rest of my Privy Council."

"Thank you, but no thanks. I like the position I currently possess."

"And that is?"

"Sometime security advisor and royal matchmaker." The assassin easily dodged the predictable swipe of the big hand, rolling out of his chair and heading for the door with a big grin.

"I am devastated but I must leave you, Your Royal Hunkiness. Leliana has been missing me, I am sure, and the Crows will be the _least_ of my problems if I do not greet her _properly_ and soon!"

* * *

><p>"You really shouldn't keep bringing me to these things, 'Stanna," the elven bodyguard said repressively.<p>

Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea chuckled. "Other banns have guards." She was clad, as she rarely was, in an actual gown this evening. Her guard was in well-buffed drakeskin armor.

"Yes, but they don't bring them _into the ballroom_."

"Oh come on, Shen! These things are a total bore! It's so much more fun when you're here to be catty with. They become almost bearable then."

"People are going to talk."

"Let them. I'll guarantee that what we get up to is much more interesting than what they imagine."

"Pssssht! Enough of that! You shouldn't speak so in public!" A furrowed brow did little to mar the beauty of the elf called Shenly Quicksilver. Aptly called, for the cold silver purity of her hair and the steely silver-grey of her eyes. "You need a bridle for that tongue of yours!"

Alfstanna leaned close. "That's not what you were saying about my tongue just last night…" she murmured with a wicked grin.

The elf grimaced. "Incorgible, that's what you are. Incorgible."

"Incor_ri_gible," the bann corrected gently.

"Damn!" Shenly scowled, flushing with embarrassment.

"You were close. And you used it correctly. You obviously knew the right meaning. Good job."

"It's easier reading big words than using them to talk to people."

"But you're making great strides with both. Are all elves so bright? So quick-witted? So fierce in battle?" The bann leaned in close again. "So incredibly _sexy_?"

"No," the bodyguard growled. "Just me."

"Good to know I've got a discerning eye then." Alfstanna cast said eye about the room, spied out where the King of Ferelden was dancing with Habren Bryland and grimaced. "Poor King Alistair. I almost feel sorry for him. You've never told me what you think of him, Shen."

"He's a _shem_. And a man. What do you think I think of him?" the elf snorted.

"He did leave the gate on the Alienage open and put Shianni on the Council. He's trying to get things fixed up in there. It's more than most have done."

"True enough, I guess," came the grudging response. "Why do you care what I think about him, 'Stanna?"

"Oh, I've just been wondering. Here he is, the most eligible bachelor in Ferelden, every nobleman's daughter mooning after him. He could be tupping a different lady every night. But as far as anyone knows, he isn't. Nor is he sending to The Pearl or anyplace else for take-out. He's living like a monk."

"Well he was the next best thing to a templar, if you believe the stories," Shenly said. "Maybe he's just shy."

"Perhaps…" Alfstanna mused. "But he was different when the Warden was still here. All concerned and hovery. And after the Warden left, it was like a light went out inside him."

The elf's eyes narrowed. "Wait," she muttered. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? That the great Theirin dynasty is reduced to one bastard, almost-templar _gay_ guy?" She chuckled. "That's rich!"

"It's a possibility. A possibility that might bring with it opportunity."

"All right, 'Stanna. Out with it. You know I hate it when you get that plotting look in your eye."

The young bann rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'm just considering the advantages that might accrue were _I_ the Queen of Ferelden."

"There's one big problem with that idea," the bodyguard said, frowning. "You don't like cock."

"That is true," Alfstanna acknowledged with an inclination of her braided red head. "But it is also true that it is inevitable that there will be some cock in my life, for Waking Reach's sake."

"What about Irminric? He's not a templar anymore."

"You've seen him, Shen. It may be years before he's fully straightened out from the lyrium addiction. And he is still very pious. The only ecstasy he's interested in experiencing at present is the religious sort. I'm hoping that in time he'll be able to come through for me and give me a nephew or niece for the bannorn, but I'm by no means certain that it's going to happen. And that means I need to think of marriage myself. I'm under more of a pressure of time than he is."

"So? You don't have to be _queen._ Just find some functioning prick from the merchant class you can thoroughly cow, who will be so happy to be nobility that he'll let you do anything-even me-and be done with it. I didn't think you were into the whole power thing."

"I'm not, really. But the more I think about it, the more I think it might be a good idea on a lot of levels. If the King really does have something going on with the Warden and he marries one of these tarts here and she finds out and raises a fuss, complains to her father, word gets out…that wouldn't be good for the kingdom. Whereas if he and _I_ are married and have an agreement that we each have our own amusements on the side, then there's no scandal and no problem."

"There's still the whole not liking cock thing."

"I think…I think that would not be so much of a problem if I knew the other person involved wasn't any more enthusiastic than I was, that we both had a job to get done," Alfstanna said, her nose wrinkling a bit as she pondered. It was one of her more adorable expressions, to Shenly's way of thinking. "I'd prefer it actually, to a marriage to a man who really wanted me and then was disappointed when I didn't want him back. That's a good part of the reason I've been hesitant to marry. It just doesn't seem fair to my husband." She looked down at her bodyguard/lover and smiled a little. "There is another consideration as well, Shenly. If I am Queen, then _you _are safe."

"Oh _no_ you don't!" Shenly exclaimed, keeping her voice low but shaking her head furiously. Her back alley accent, which she was trying to eradicate with Alfstanna's tutelage, was suddenly very obvious. "Don't you dare go making your marriage plans based upon what would help _me_! I don't want to be the cause of a major balls-up in your life! You've already done enough!"

"It's not as if I haven't derived some benefit from it as well." The bann's tone was gently teasing.

"Not that much. There isn't a whore alive worth what you've given me, no matter how good she is."

"Then perhaps it is a good thing that you are _not _a whore," Alfstanna said firmly. The dance was ending. The King bowed to Habren and when he straightened, he was by chance looking directly at Alfstanna, who lifted her chin and smiled at him. He was across the floor from them, but immediately began crossing to join them.

"He's going to dance with you next."

"Yes. He likes me because I don't flirt with him. And to be honest, I like him as well. But before I set upon this plan, I need to know more. If he is simply friends with the Warden, then I've got no leverage."

"How do we find that out?" Shenly muttered quietly, for he was drawing close.

"A period of close observation," Alfstanna murmured. "Though if it looks like he's going to offer elsewhere, I might have to play my hand early."

A few moments later, he was standing in front of them. "Good evening, Bann Alfstanna, Mistress Quicksilver. My lady, would you give me the privilege of dancing the next dance with me?"

Alfstanna offered him her hand and smiled. "Trying to keep them at bay, are you, Your Majesty?"

"Maker, _yes_!"

"Then I am glad to be of assistance, Sire."


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to mille libri, Ygraine33 and Ventisquear for their kind reviews, as well as to those folks who alerted. Knowing people are reading inspires me to keep writing!

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><p>Two months later:<p>

The horsemen rode in through the gates of Denerim. A dozen Royal Guardsmen in uniform, with two elves at their head, one in drakeskin armor, the other in full plate of a dark blue, with silver griffons upon the breastplate. People going about their daily business took a look, turned away, then turned back.

"The Warden!" someone called out. "The Warden has returned!" That drew more eyes, and more voices rose in greeting. "Maker bless you, Warden! The Lady's blessing upon you, Warden! Welcome back, Warden!" Children came running to see, wives hanging laundry on lines above the streets slipped out of their houses to join the throng. Soon there was a loose-packed press of well-wishers on either side of the street, crying welcome.

Lhaine Mahariel's horse threw its head up on protest as his hand tightened spasmodically on the reins. Zevran, looking over, saw that his friend's eyes were white all around, his mouth fixed in the rictus of a smile.

"It will be well, Lhaine," he murmured. "Let us just get past this crowd and the Marketplace and we'll pick up the pace." An abrupt nod was his only answer. Lhaine even managed to raise a hand and wave as they went, which only intensified the cheering.

Many of the folk who had seen them enter followed after, joining the throng of shoppers in Denerim's biggest marketplace, who also turned and pressed forward. The cheers and cries grew louder. Zevran saw the exact moment when it became too much, when Lhaine's control shattered. Some people pressed close enough to actually touch his leg, as if he were a lucky charm. He began to shake. A low rumble began to sound in Dagger's throat and he interposed himself between Lhaine's horse and the folk who had pressed forward.

"Captain Aldwyn!" Zevran called, and the captain, an older man chosen for his discretion and sense, immediately snapped his orders. The escort formed up around the two elves and Lhaine's mabari, buffering them from the crowd, and pushed into a trot. Once they had freed themselves of the press in the Market district, they raised gait to a canter and sped up the streets, two soldiers going a little in advance to clear the path. As the streets broadened out in the nicer districts their passage became much easier, with only the occasional greeting floating after them. Before long, they were clattering into the Palace stable yard, hostlers hurrying forward to take their horses.

Lhaine slid off of his horse, leaning against its shoulder for a moment, almost seeming to derive strength from the beast's presence. His hands were still shaking when he went to unfasten his saddlebags, so Zevran moved to his side and undid them instead, slinging them over his shoulder with his own. With the lightest of touches on his friend's elbow, he urged Lhaine towards the Palace.

"Thank you, Captain Aldwyn," the assassin told the guardsman over his shoulder. "I will be sure to tell the King how very well you carried out your charge."

"You're very welcome, Master Arainai. Warden, it was an honor." The captain saluted, then dismissed his men.

Once inside, Zevran used the back passages he'd come to know so well during his stay there. Encountering only the occasional startled servant, they made their way up and inwards until they stood before the doors of the royal suite. The two guards stationed there stiffened to attention and saluted. One then opened the door.

Inside, the sitting room was quiet. Zevran led his friend to the side bedroom that had been prepared for him. Lhaine visibly relaxed when they entered the pleasant room, which smelled of beeswax and lavender, and smiled when he saw the mabari-sized cushion set near the hearth.

"Look, Dagger, the King got you a bed."

The mabari huffed approval and immediately went to try it out, turning round and round several times before situating himself. He went to sleep almost immediately-it had been a long trip for him. Mabari, with their bulky, powerful physiques, tended to be sprinters. Long distance travel really wasn't their thing. Keeping up with a party on foot was easy enough for Dagger. Keeping up with horses had required considerable effort on his part.

Zevran set his bags upon the floor near the hearth and set to lighting the fire, which had been laid in preparation for their arrival. Lhaine put his things upon the bed and seeing an armor stand handy, began to unbuckle his armor.

"Thank you, Zev," he said quietly. "I'm pretty pitiful, aren't I?"

"Not at all, my friend. That was quite the enthusiastic crowd, and they were pressing much too closely. I can see why you would be upset."

"It was all the strangers wanting to _touch_ me. The way they grabbed at my stirrup and leg," he sighed. "Perhaps things will be better in Kirkwall. People won't recognize me on sight, at least. But whether they are or not, I need to go."

"I could go for you."

"You could, I suppose. You are an elf, they'd let you into the camp. But I _want_ to see my clan, Zev. I miss them all. I'll just have to work myself up to it."

The door to the sitting room opened and there was the sound of light footsteps walking in. Zevran knew the cadence of those footsteps and smiled, as did Lhaine, when Leliana came into view holding a tea tray.

"Come into the sitting room, Lhaine, and we'll have tea while the servants draw you a bath. I assume you'd like one?"

"Creators, _yes_!" Lhaine declared, following her out into the room. He'd gotten his upper armor undone and racked, but still wore the legs and his gambeson. "_Aneth'ara, lethallan! _How have you been? Alistair wrote and said that you and Zevran had been helping him. Thank you so much for that!"

Leliana dimpled. "It was my pleasure." She set the tray upon a low table in front of the sofa and turned to him. "May I?" she asked, holding out her arms.

"Of course. If you don't mind the stench of the road" Lhaine allowed her to take him gently into her arms and kiss his cheek. "You're looking very well, Leli."

"This life suits me. I can sing and spy for a good cause, almost as good as ending the Blight. Zevran and I do good work here together and this keeps him from pursuing the Crows."

"Which I am very grateful for."

"_You_, however, are looking entirely too thin! There is only one remedy for that-pastries!" She gestured towards the tray which, along with the tea, held a plate containing a variety of flaky, sweet confections. Lhaine's eyes lit up, and Zevran thanked the Maker silently for his lover's tact and wit. The Dalish had a sweet tooth, and as far as Zevran was concerned, if the only thing Lhaine was truly interested in food-wise was pastries, then he'd have extra pastry chefs brought to the palace immediately. Lhaine had dropped more weight than the last time Zevran had seen him and he didn't have it to lose. You could cut yourself on his cheekbones. _And, I suspect, his hipbones, not that I'm liable to see those any time soon!_

They all seated themselves and Leliana poured. Lhaine acquired an apple turnover and began devouring it in neat, swift bites. When that was done, he moved onto a cherry turnover, which met the same fate. Finally, pausing in the act of selecting a third pastry victim, he looked up at his two friends, who were sipping their tea and watching him with pleased expressions.

"Are you just going to sit there watching me eat?" he asked.

"Yes. It is extremely enjoyable to see you do so with some enthusiasm for once," Zevran said with a smile, though he selected a pastry for himself at that point. Leliana declined, slapping her hip.

"They always end up there. And I'm not getting as much exercise as I usually do."

"Ah, my poor songbird. You have been neglected of late. I shall give you a workout this evening, how does that sound?" the assassin said with a smirk. "Enough of a workout that I think you could probably eat just one. Perhaps that Orlesian crème-filled concoction over there that seems to be calling out to you?"

Leliana succumbed to the lure and took the pastry, biting into it with a noise of enjoyment that made the tips of Lhaine's ears turn pink. Zevran, seeing this, chuckled.

"I know, I know. It is sad but, mighty lover that I am, _I _can't get sounds like that out of her." His arm was promptly swatted by the bard and the three of them laughed.

"Where is Alistair?" Lhaine inquired, after his third pastry had gone the way of the first two.

"In Council, most likely," Leliana said. "It is the only thing that would keep him from seeing you. Though as soon as the word gets to him that you're actually here, he'll be here. He's been pacing the floors waiting for you to arrive."

"It will be good to see him again. How is his search for a queen going?"

The door opened at that point and Lhaine jumped, his head snapping around. But it was only a couple of servants holding large steaming cans of water. They bowed to the tea-partyers on the sofa and proceeded into the bedroom, from whence came the sound of a tub being pulled out and water being emptied into it. Coming back out, one of them bowed again to Lhaine.

"It won't be long, Warden," he said. "Two more trips will fill it up."

"Thank you," Lhaine said, with a polite inclination of his head.

"Alistair has been most assiduous in his duty," Zevran said, after they had gone. "I believe he's talked to and danced with every eligible young noblewoman in the kingdom at this point, even the ones that had to come in from the more remote bannorns."

"Has he found anyone that he likes in particular?"

The assassin shrugged. "Making book on that has become the major pastime at court."

"The smart money is on Bann Alfstanna," Leliana noted.

"I remember her," Lhaine said. "From the Landsmeet. The red-headed lady who set the terms of the duel. The one whose brother we rescued, correct? She seemed very bright."

"She is. And _much_ attached to her _female_ elven bodyguard," Zevran said.

"Oh. Is she exclusive with her own sex? Have you warned Alistair?" Lhaine asked with a worried look. "The sooner the wedding the better, as far as the Taint is concerned. If he wants children, he needs not to waste time pursuing a woman who won't bed him."

"I have no answer to the first question, though Alfstanna seems very devoted to her duty to her bannorn and her brother is still incapable of giving the bannorn an heir. I suspect she could steel herself to the task. But yes, I have warned him, some time ago."

The conversation after that devolved into more inconsequential things. Lhaine gave the two of them an update upon what was going on at Ostagar. The dwarves were actually beginning to stake out the foundations for buildings now that the snow had started to melt. This had caused a change of plans as far as the corpses who had fallen at Ostagar were concerned, for in some cases, they were in the way of the development. So the dead that had been found were being laid respectfully in the Tower of Ishal for the present, until their bodies could be retrieved by the human authorities for burial. It was the most complete building on the site, but the Dalish were wary of actually using it as habitation or anything else, until the tunnels up from the basement were properly sealed.

Leliana in her turn caught them up on what gossip had transpired at court in Zevran's absence, which was primarily concerned with all the young women jockeying for Alistair's attention and the latest developments on that. Then the servants announced that the bath was ready and his two friends rose to leave Lhaine to his ablutions.

"I had better go tell Alistair now, if he hasn't already received word," Zevran said. "He would never forgive me if I left him unaware of your arrival for a moment longer than necessary."

"There are clothes in the wardrobe for you, Lhaine," Leliana told him on her way out the door. "I had them made from memory, so hopefully they fit-I am usually pretty good at guessing sizes. I hope you like them. Boots and shoes too. I'll be glad to shop with you if you need more."

Lhaine actually grinned. "I've shopped with you before, Leliana. I think I'd rather kill another high dragon!"

Laughing, they closed the door behind them.

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><p>Alistair had received word through one of the palace guards that the Warden had arrived and his desire or ability to conduct anything resembling coherent business fled with the news. When Zevran's blonde head poked through the door, he finally gave up on even the pretense.<p>

"_We _are weary," he told the Council, trotting the royal plural out for some air. "We will convene again at the same time tomorrow." Eamon gave him a sharp look, but said nothing. As the councilors filed out, Alfstanna came up to him and crooked her finger. When he bent his head close, she smiled and said, "I hope you find the Warden well, Sire. Please give him my regards."

Alistair smiled back. "I will do that, my lady. I don't know how long he is staying, but perhaps we can all dine together before he goes."

"I would enjoy that." She left as well, her eternal bodyguard silently joining her from where she'd waited in the hall outside. He fell in beside Zevran, the assassin lengthening his own strides to keep up with Alistair's longer ones.

"How was the trip up, Zevran?" the King asked.

"Good enough. I am glad I was with him. I honestly don't think he'll go anywhere alone with humans any time soon, Your Majesty. We had a bit of a rough spot when we entered the city-people saw him and a crowd gathered to welcome him. It got a bit tense. But Leli and I got him sorted out once he was settled in the room. He's been asking for you."

"It's going to be really good having him back, even if for just a short while. Thank you, Zev."

"You are very welcome."

Silence fell between them until they reached the door of the royal suite. "And this is where I leave Your Majesty," Zevran said with a licentious grin. "I have a date with Leliana. I made her a promise about a pastry."

"A _pastry_? Spare me the details of whatever new piece of Antivan kink you're working on tonight, Zev. That milk sandwich thing? I thought it was a _recipe,_ maybe something with cheese from the name and it turned out to be… euwww." Alistair shuddered. "A good evening to you."

"And to you as well, Alistair."

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><p>There was the sound of splashing from the bedroom he'd ordered readied for Lhaine when he entered. It halted momentarily.<p>

"Who is there?" Lhaine's voice came from the room and the final proof that he was actually present made Alistair grin goofily.

"It's me, Lhaine," he said after a moment.

"Ah! Alistair!" There was obvious pleasure in the Dalish's mellifluous voice. "Just give me a few minutes."

"Take your time. A good long, hot soak is probably just what you need right now. Is Dagger with you?"

"He is. Sound asleep at present-I think the journey wore him out. He really likes the bed."

"Glad to hear it. Should I send for some food for him?"

"Later, when he wakes up."

Alistair spied the plate of pastries and went to sit on the sofa and pick through them. There were two cheese-filled ones and he nabbed them up and inhaled them. _It was a long Council session after all…_

"I ordered dinner upstairs this evening," he called into the bedroom. "I figured you wouldn't want the whole high table scene."

"No, I don't," came the calm response. "I honestly don't know if I'll be able to do that at all while I'm here, Alistair. I am sorry if this causes difficulties for you. Are Zev and Leli going to eat with us?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. Zevran said something about pastries. I didn't want to inquire too closely."

Lhaine laughed and it was a glorious sound to Alistair's ears, for he'd not heard it since before Drakon. "_I_ know what that's about! I suspect we won't see them then. And Zev asked Wynne, but she says she's busy tonight. Probably best not to inquire too closely. It will be just you and me."

"That will actually be nice. Give us a chance to catch up."

"Indeed." There was some more sloshing about, then the sound of someone getting out of the tub and some random sounds that might have been Lhaine toweling off and putting some clothes on. Eventually he said, "You can come on in if you like."

Alistair got up and went into the bedroom to find Lhaine clad in his breeches and nothing else, bent over with his head close to the fire, combing his hair dry. The entirety of his back was exposed. Alistair sucked in a breath at the pink/white wheals that criss-crossed across the golden skin. They were smooth scars for the most part-skin healed swiftest of all and Wynne had begun the healing process as soon as she and Eamon and the others had reached them. But there were a great many of them and Alistair's face darkened at the reminder of Lhaine's torment.

Lhaine, turning his head a little towards Alistair to say something, caught that expression and froze. Slowly, he straightened up and went over to the bed where an embroidered shirt lay on the counterpane. He slid it on, flipping his hair out of the neck, then went back to the fire and resumed the combing.

"I'm sorry, Lhaine. I just…I still get angry when I think of it." The Dalish nodded, and saying nothing, continued combing. "Are _you_ still angry with _me_ about the Morrigan thing?"

"No," came the quiet answer after a moment. "I would be lying if I said that there hadn't been times I cursed your name for it. But for _Mamae's_ sake alone-no, Alistair. I would suffer a great deal of pain to spare her the pain of losing me. It is all right."

"I've missed you."

"And I you."

"I just don't…I just don't know what to do about it."

"That makes two of us. You know your duty. You need a wife who can give you heirs, not an elven catamite who never will."

"You are _not_ a catamite!"

"That is what they would call me, your _shemlen_ nobles with their short memories." There was no heat in Lhaine's voice, it was matter-of-fact.

"And what about what _you_ need?"

"What I need does not signify."

"It damned well ought to! You just saved the whole of Thedas!"

A wry smile twisted Lhaine's mouth. "Ah, but then I had the cheek to _survive_ the deed! It would have been ever so much better had I been a good little elf and died properly, as Garahel did!" He straightened up and going over to the dresser, laid the comb there. Then he went to the wardrobe and threw the door open.

"Did you see what Leliana had made for me?" he asked in a blatant change of subject. "Look at all these clothes! And they're not human fashion. They're not really the way my people do things either. They're sort of…I guess they're sort of what people _think_ elves wear, all leafy embroidery and such."

"You don't like them?"

"Oh, I do! It was very thoughtful of her. Look at these boots-they have halla tooled on them! I am just not certain I am ready to be a …what is the term? Trend-setter?" Alistair had to chuckle.

"You'll look like a Dalish prince in that stuff."

"A Dalish prince from a fairy-tale. That's the only place there are Dalish princes. Even in Arlathan's time we did not have royalty as humans understand it."

"Lhaine."

"Yes, Alistair?"

"You're changing the subject. May I come over there?"

"Why…yes. Yes. Of course you may." Alistair walked over to the wardrobe and very slowly and deliberately lifted his hand to Lhaine's cheek and cupped it for a moment. Then his fingers began to trace the lines of Lhaine's tattoos, where they ran over brow and cheek bones and to stroke along the top of his ear.

The Dalish stood mute and still beneath his ministrations for a minute before he suddenly stiffened and slid out from beneath Alistair's hand. Swallowing, he looked up at his fellow Warden with misery in his eyes.

"And not even a _good_ elven catamite! Alistair, I beg of you-don't sacrifice your reputation and the possibility of a family for me. I am damaged goods."

"You are _not_! You are the best and bravest man I've ever known. And that includes Duncan, by the way."

A small smile teased the corners of Lhaine's mouth, dispelling some of the gloom. "High praise indeed."

"I am going to hug you now. Just so you know." He stepped sideways to match Lhaine's earlier movement and folded his arms carefully around the elf. Lhaine tensed for a moment, then relaxed, laying his cheek against Alistair's chest with a sigh. Alistair, resting the top of his chin on the blonde head, felt a moment of simple contentment and happiness. Which only confirmed for him the trouble the two of them were in.

_I love him and I need him, and I think he feels the same about me. We are well and truly doomed!_

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><p>Dinner was a much more comfortable event, the two of them setting aside for a time the large, unspoken bronto in the room. Sitting at a small table close to the fire, chatting over the food was almost like the countless times the two of them had sat by the campfire late at night, unable to sleep, or conversed while walking down the road. Discussing Lhaine's Kirkwall trip, it was decided that he should go across to talk to Marethari first and see what the clan's disposition was. Alistair was giving him some dwarven bearer bonds that were as good as gold in any place with a dwarven merchant guild, which Kirkwall certainly had. Lhaine could arrange for the needed ships from the Kirkwall side when the clan was ready to go.<p>

After dinner, Alistair showed Lhaine and Dagger the back way down to the private royal garden so the mabari would have a place to relieve himself that didn't involve dragging his master through the more public areas of the palace. Since dinner for the humans had also meant a sizeable portion of raw meat for the mabari, Dagger was a happy fellow. Alistair then returned them to the royal suite before excusing himself for a time.

"I need to cover a few things with Eamon before tomorrow's council meeting. I left early when I'd heard you had showed up," he said with a smile. "Will you be all right?"

"I will be fine. I'll just look through your books and see if I can read anything here," Lhaine assured him.

"Would you like to spar tomorrow morning?"

"I would, actually. Have you been keeping your hand in?"

"Not as much as I would like to." Alistair poked his midsection. "I need to watch this. Food on call at all hours of the day and night, no more fleeing monsters or chasing after them…You'll need to go easy on me."

Lhaine's eyebrow quirked upward and he smiled what was for him an evil smile. "I would be doing you a disservice if I did. But you're the King after all. I'm sure you can have a hot bath ready and waiting and some healing potions for the bruises afterwards!"

* * *

><p>Sorting things out with Eamon took longer than expected. Alistair wondered if he were in fact being punished for skipping out on his duty earlier. When they had finally settled business to the arl's satisfaction, Eamon asked, "How is Warden Mahariel, by the way?"<p>

Alistair gave him a searching look, but could see nothing but genuine concern upon the arl's countenance. Eamon knew, better than almost anyone, exactly what Lhaine had endured. He'd been present for the elf's rescue. Which, had it been only five or ten minutes later, would have been a rescue for Alistair alone.

"Better in some ways than I expected, worse in others. He's pretty jumpy. He won't go anywhere alone with a human escort-Zevran needs to be with him. He just doesn't trust humans anymore."

"Except for you."

"Except for me, Zev, Leliana, Wynne… I guess it's more accurate to say he doesn't trust human males anymore."

"Except for you."

Alistair gave his Chancellor an annoyed look. "Yes, Eamon. _Except for me_. Is there a point to this?"

The arl turned a quill pen over and over in his hands. They were in the Chancellor's office and it was very quiet.

"Ferelden owes Warden Mahariel a debt it could never repay, as does the rest of Thedas. _I _owe him for my life and the lives of my family. If you would just put at least one, but preferably two legitimate heirs on the ground, Alistair, and quickly, then I don't care what you and the Warden get up to together. In fact, I'll gladly do my part to protect the two of you."

Alistair blushed. "I don't think that's necessary, Eamon, though I thank you for it. Lhaine…can't. Not after Drakon."

"But were he able to at some point in the future, would you be interested?"

The blush darkened. "Yes. Yes I would."

"You do realize that keeping him in your private quarters is causing talk."

"It will just have to. Everyone else is safer that way. Lhaine's temper is…uncertain. If someone were to startle or corner him, even unintentionally, it might not go well."

"I see. Well, if it is necessary, just be careful, Alistair. You wouldn't want word to get out to any of the young women you've been seeing. Speaking of which… you've had plenty of time to look the candidates over. You need to make a decision, and soon. Preferably within the month. It takes time to plan a royal wedding and more time to make babies and the sooner you're started, the sooner we'll have a proper succession again."

Alistair sighed. "All right, Eamon. I'll give you an answer by the end of the week. Is that good enough?"

"More than acceptable, Sire."

* * *

><p>Lhaine's bedroom door was closed when Alistair returned, so he went into his own bedroom and got ready for bed. Sinking into the goose feather mattress, he found himself very aware of the other Warden he could sense through the walls and doors. Along with the mental disciplines, the other thing Templar training taught a young man was how to wank off quickly and quietly. It was not the first time Alistair had done so to thoughts of Lhaine. The very first time he'd done it while journeying together had been very troubling to him, cementing as it did the realization that he was in fact sexually attracted to his fellow Warden. Over time, he'd become more comfortable with the idea and he now had new memories from earlier in the day to inspire him. It did not take long. Getting up to wash up, he listened intently, but there was no sound or sense of movement. If Lhaine was having nightmares, he was being very quiet about it. Of course, it was also possible he was just reading in bed. After cleansing himself Alistair went back to bed and, tensions relieved, fell asleep relatively quickly.<p>

Later in the night, he awoke, aware that the other Warden presence was now moving about. Throwing a robe on over his nightshirt, he opened the door to the sitting room and peered out. Lhaine, still in his breeches and shirt, had poked up the fire, though the lanterns were unlit, and was pacing noiselessly to and fro. He had reached one of the windows when Alistair peeked out and when he turned at the sound of the door opening, that pure profile of his was limned clearly against the night-dark glass for a moment.

"Alistair. I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you."

Alistair shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I don't have a herd of halla here for you."

Lhaine's mouth thinned, and his eyes glinted in the firelight. "Zevran has been running his big mouth again, I see."

"Of course. I sent him to see how you were, after all. He told me a lot. Want to give my bed a try?"

Lhaine started in surprise, and Alistair hastened to explain. "_Nothing_ will happen, Lhaine! I promise you that. But Zev did talk quite a bit and he said you thought you might actually be able to _sleep_ with me. I'm more than happy to let you try."

Conflicting emotions flitted across the Dalish's countenance for a moment; fear, irritation, embarrassment, longing and what might have been desperation. Then he sighed and nodded.

"Thank you, Alistair. I would like that." He came forward, head bowed almost submissively and followed Alistair back into the bedroom.

Striving to keep things as low-key as possible, Alistair draped his robe over the rail at the foot of the bed and slid back in without any further commentary, holding the covers open. After a moment's hesitation, Lhaine followed. Goose-feather ticks being what they were, the two men were rolled together in close proximity into the middle almost at once. Alistair immediately rolled onto his back, so as to not expose Lhaine to any of the more problematical parts of his anatomy and made sure his nightshirt was pulled down.

"You decide how you are comfortable," he said. After a moment, Lhaine slid cautiously close and laid his head upon Alistair's shoulder, his arm draped across his fellow Warden's chest. "Can I do this?" Alistair asked, curling his arm up carefully around the elf. Lhaine nodded. "That's all right. I actually like it."

"Your hair feels so soft against my chest. Can I touch it?"

"Yes. Hair's fine. So's the face. But leave the ears alone. That's sex-play among my people. It's why I got frightened earlier."

"I'm sorry!"

"You didn't know. And I should have explained then. _Abelas_."

The Dalish apology, which Lhaine had made frequent use of in their earliest days together, caused Alistair to chuckle. Lhaine said nothing, but Alistair could feel movement against his chest and realized that the elf was smiling. He crooked his fingers so that he could brush them against the silk floss hair on the Dalish's head. Lhaine made a pleased murmur when he did so.

"Go to sleep. You're safe here. I've got you." Neither of them said anything more and five minutes later Alistair realized that Lhaine was in fact asleep already, his breathing slow and regular.

Lying there, listening to those quiet inhalations and exhalations was oddly exhilarating. _Lhaine Mahariel is __**in my bed**__! Sleeping with me! And maybe, just maybe I can __**help**__ him!_

It was, Alistair decided, a _much_ better rush than being crowned king. No terror, only joy.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to mille libri (x 2!), Ygraine33, and Ventisquear for the lovely reviews for the last chapter and all who have alerted as well.

* * *

><p>The arrival of the Warden finally gave Alfstanna the chance to do some of that close observation she'd told Shenly about months before. Starting the very next morning, in fact, in the courtyard the nobles used for arms practice. All of the other sparring pretty much came to a halt when the Warden and the King set upon each other, a fast and furious bout that had everyone cheering.<p>

Lhaine Mahariel was magic with his two long swords, pure magic. Even Shenly was impressed.

"Fuck. He's absolutely balanced," she grumbled. "No off-hand weakness. They're both the same. He must be…you know, that two-handed thing?"

"Ambidextrous?" Alfstanna hazarded.

"Yes. That's the one."

"Could you take him?"

"No way in the Fade."

"Want to spar with him?"

"He's going to have me for breakfast, but _yes_!"

"I'll ask for you. It may not happen today, but I'll ask."

"Thanks, 'Stanna."

The Warden won the bout, wearing the King down until he could flank him sword-side and drive an attack home. Alfstanna was impressed-there weren't that many rogues who could stand up to a fighter of Alistair Theirin's caliber. She watched the two men intently as they stood at the water table afterwards, laughing and joking together. There was no behavior that couldn't have been attributed to friendship as well as intimacy. Although…there had been a moment when the King's hand had risen to rest upon the elf's shoulder, then had been caught and lowered. It was odd. Such a gesture would hardly have communicated an improper relationship. She wondered if Alistair were being careful for some other reason.

After Shenly was done drilling her in the use of sword and knife, which ability was much improved since her city elf had become her taskmaster, Alfstanna went off to the butts to do some shooting. There she encountered the Warden again, shooting himself with a lovely bow that drew her eye. Alistair was there as well, getting some practice in, but she could tell the King's heart wasn't in it. He was apparently keeping the Warden company more than anything else.

Mahariel was a more than adequate archer, no doubt from having grown up hunting for a living. But he was not Alfstanna. She could feel his eyes upon her as she shot her round and he actually approached her when she was done and everyone was collecting their arrows.

"Well shot, Bann Alfstanna. I did not realize you were such an excellent archer."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Warden. Those are very kind words, coming from you. Waking Reach has a tradition of producing excellent bowmen. I've been shooting since I was a very small girl. While you were down south settling your people in, I went with Teyrn Fergus with a contingent of my bowmen to get Highever back into the proper hands."

"Were you Dalish, we would say that you held Andruil's favor."

"Who is Andruil?"

"Our goddess of the hunt."

"Thank you." She looked at his bow in envy. "Your bow is lovely." He immediately handed it to her. Apparently she'd not violated any tenets of Dalish culture by admiring it.

"The Sorrows of Arlathan, she is called. You may try her if you like."

"That is very kind of you."

He took up her bow and she went with him back to the line to try his out. That she was over-bowed was very obvious from the first pull and she looked at the elf's slight frame in surprise.

"Maker! You're a _lot_ stronger than you look, aren't you?" Lhaine Mahariel grinned. "I fear she's too much for me," Alfstanna admitted. But she managed to shoot a decent round nonetheless. "Very, very sweet," she said, upon concluding it and handing the bow back to him. "I thank you for the opportunity, Warden."

He inclined his head. "You are very welcome."

Lover of women that she was, Alfstanna had to admit to herself that he was beautiful, if too thin at present. She remembered the first time he'd approached her at the Gnawed Noble. He'd been carrying much more weight then.

"I was wondering, Warden…my bodyguard expressed a desire to spar with you while watching you and the King fight this morning. Do you think that would be possible?"

"Mistress Quicksilver? Of course. Tomorrow morning, if she would like. It would be nice to have another double-weapon fighter to spar with other than Zevran. He is very, very good, but he sleeps a lot later than I do. And he gets cranky if you wake him up before he's ready."

"I'll say," the King commented, strolling up. "Good morning, Alfstanna."

"Good morning, Sire."

"Dinner tomorrow evening? In my chambers?"

"Why yes, that would be lovely."

"And do bring Mistress Quicksilver. She's invited as a guest, so she might want to lose the armor."

"Thank you, Sire. I'm sure she'll be very pleased."

Alistair looked over to where the bodyguard was leaning against the wall, a bored, slightly suspicious expression on her face. "I don't know about that, but that's all right. So long as she shows up." He gestured to the Warden. "Shall we, Lhaine? Baths and healing potions waiting, remember?"

The Dalish smirked. "And since _I _don't need any potions, there will be more than enough for _you_."

"Brat." The two men walked off laughing, while Alfstanna watched them go, wondering if the invitation portended anything other than the fulfillment of the promise Alistair had made to her the day before.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Shenly had her sparring match with the Warden. Though she was not able to defeat him, he seemed very pleased at the challenge she presented. The city elf was very serious about improving her sword skills and the fact that she could stand up to him to some extent made both her and Alfstanna very proud. That evening, the bann and her bodyguard presented themselves at the door to the king's chambers promptly at the appointed hour stated in the formal invitation sent to her estate the day before.<p>

Alfstanna was gowned once more, in a green dress with a gold brocade corset chosen to play up her red hair and green eyes, while Shenly was garbed in an outfit Alfstanna had been waiting for some time for the proper opportunity to make the bodyguard wear- a rose-patterned brocade doublet in shades of charcoal and grey, touched with silver. The sleeves of the doublet were slashed all the way down so as to show the silver silk shirt beneath and could be fastened up with silver rose buttons. Grey suede breeches and dark grey Rivaini-style over-the-knee boots with silver buckles engraved with roses completed the ensemble. Alfstanna thought Shenly looked dangerous, elegant, piratical and totally luscious in the outfit. Shenly's eyes had widened upon seeing her reflection in the mirror, but the only thing she had said was, "Huh. Not bad."

The King's sentries let them into the suite with a polite "Good evening, your ladyship, mistress. You are expected." They entered to find that a small dining table had been set with white linen and silver dishes in the main room. The king, dressed in a tawny brown and gold brocade that looked very well on him stood waiting, smiling. The Warden, exotically elegant in what must have been a Dalish tunic of forest green silk over another in pale gold, all over buff breeches and tooled brown boots, stood as they entered.

"Good evening Bann Alfstanna, Mistress Quicksilver," Alistair said affably. "Since I don't think you've been formally introduced, Mistress, I'd like you to meet Warden Lhaine Mahariel, the Hero of Ferelden. Lhaine, this is Shenly Quicksilver."

The Warden bowed gracefully. _Andaran atish'an,_ mistress." Shenly, keeping Alfstanna's etiquette lessons firmly in mind, managed a creditably graceful bow herself.

"I am honored to meet you, Warden."

Alistair pulled a chair out for Alfstanna, who inclined her head in thanks and gracefully seated herself, smoothing her skirts. The Warden did the same for Shenly, who looked up at him for a moment, startled, before seating herself. Alistair then rang the bell for the servants and he and Lhaine sat down as well. The table was a square one and the women and men were seated across from each other.

Servants began to bustle in, bearing all manner of delicious dishes. There was little speech for a time, other than requests to pass a dish. Wine was poured, and the servants departed. Once plates and glasses were full, the King and his guests settled down to enjoy their meal. Or rather, three of them did. Shenly was surreptitiously watching Alfstanna's use of the several types of forks and utensils and endeavoring to copy her. She had been briefed upon them at one point, along with her other lessons in etiquette, but that was not the same as using them under the eyes of the highest in the land and she was somewhat tense.

"Mistress Quicksilver," Alistair eventually said, seeing her predicament. When she turned her eyes in his direction, he quickly cut a piece of steak with his knife, skewered it on the point and put it in his mouth. When he had chewed and swallowed, he smiled and said, "It's all right. I've spent more time in camps than courts myself. I won't throw you in the dungeon for using the wrong fork. That sort of thing only happens at the _Orlesian_ court! I'd like my guests to enjoy themselves."

"Thank you, Sire," Shenly said quietly, promptly selected the one fork that suited her best and used it exclusively afterwards.

The conversation over the meal was carried primarily by the King and the bann, who discussed some further ramifications of things that had been debated in the council that day. Alistair did keep a watchful eye upon his friend's consumption of food and was pleased to find that Lhaine appeared to have re-discovered his Warden appetite, particularly when an assortment of iced cakes was brought for dessert.

"Lhaine is going to Kirkwall to bring his clan home," Alistair said over dessert in an effort to bring at least one of the elves into the conversation.

"They fled the Blight, I take it?" Alfstanna asked. "I hear that there are many Fereldans in Kirkwall these days.

"They did, but they are camped outside the city, on a mountain," Lhaine explained. "Better quarters in many ways than the refugee camps, from what I understand."

"How long do you think it will take for all of the Dalish to come to their new homeland?" the bann inquired, wiping a trace of pink frosting from the corner of her mouth.

"They never will," came the quiet reply. Alistair looked up.

"Did I not give you enough land, Lhaine? I thought there weren't that many Dalish."

"The land was a kingly gift, make no mistake, Alistair. And it is greatly appreciated. But there will always be wandering Dalish, even now that we have land. We have learned not to…how is it you humans put it? Put all of our eggs in one basket? The council was absolutely in agreement on that point, though we have not entirely decided upon the methodology. I suspect that won't be settled until the next _Arlathvhen_. For now, all who want to come and stay are welcome and those that do not, it is understood, have their own good reasons for not doing so."

"But I thought your people wanted a homeland!"

"We did, which is why I asked for one as my boon and now we have one, and for that I do thank you. But we have taken a lesson from the last Halamshiral, from the Dales, and that is, no matter how much we try to withdraw from human affairs, the _shemlen_ will eventually covet what is ours and try to take it. And if we are all in one place, it only makes it that much more convenient for them to do so. The day _will_ come, Alistair. It _always_ does. Not in your time, or even your childrens' childrens' day, but it will come. And when it does, even if our new Halamshiral falls, the seeds of our civilization will remain, as if blown upon the winds to new places. The aravels will continue to travel the forest paths of Thedas and Dalish children will continue to learn the oath that binds us all." Lhaine lifted his chin proudly, his eyes glittering in the light from the candles on the table and he suddenly looked foreign, alien, even to his city elf counterpart.

_"We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."_

Silence fell. Lhaine looked around the table at the three sets of wide eyes, and one corner of his mouth quirked upward. "That being said, I go to Kirkwall to see if my clan are one of those who wish to come here or wish to stay on the road." He reached for another cake and began eating it.

"The elves in the Alienages say that the Dalish are thieves and barbarians," Shenly said after a moment, venturing into the conversation for the first time. Alfstanna winced at the manner in which she had done so, but the Dalish Warden just smiled and shrugged, unoffended.

"And we call the elves in the Alienages 'flat-ears' for their willingness to live on human sufferance. But what we do, we do as much for you as ourselves, against the day you remember your true natures and wish to live as elves again. Any who come to us from the human cities are welcome, be they of good character. In fact, right before I left my people to be a Warden they'd taken one such in. An elf from Denerim."

"Are you wanting to go live the traveling life, Shenly?" Bann Alfstanna asked softly. The bodyguard shot a quick look at her mistress. She grinned suddenly.

"Nah! City girl here!" Alfstanna visibly relaxed, and Lhaine smiled.

"You might want to stop trying to recruit Bann Alfstanna's bodyguard out from under her, Lhaine," Alistair said, then blushed when everyone turned towards him and he realized how that had sounded. "Maker, I'm sorry, Alfstanna!"

"No harm done, Your Majesty." The young bann looked at the King and decided to take a chance. "It's nothing but the truth."

The King actually blushed. "Yes. Well. Hmmmmm. That's sort of why I invited you here tonight. I needed to talk to you."

"About what, Sire?"

"I'm sure you're aware that I need a wife."

Alfstanna sighed. "Who isn't?"

"Exactly. Problem is, I really don't care for all the girls I've met so far. It's not that I _can't_ sleep with a woman. I've done so before." The blush deepened. "It's more a question of character, if you understand. But I like you. You're smart and I think one of the few here at court who actually care more about the people they are oath-sworn to serve than having a good time at those peoples' expense."

"You are very kind, Your Majesty."

Alistair nodded an acknowledgement, then plowed on. "Thank you. But I happened to learn from a source I trust that you and Mistress Quicksilver are…intimate, and you've just confirmed that for me. So my question is-do you think you could stand to sleep with a man? Often enough to make an heir for Ferelden?"

"Are you offering to _marry_ me, Sire?"

"Yes, I am. If you can actually sleep with me."

"And what becomes of Shenly?"

"Nothing. I have no objection to her at all. You may continue as you have done, so long as _we_ are together often enough to make children."

"I should put in here that I don't entirely approve of this arrangement, not that it is my place to approve or disapprove," Lhaine said. "You are giving yourself the short end of the bargain here, Alistair."

"I don't happen to feel that way, Lhaine."

Puzzled, Alfstanna said, "Wait. I thought that you and the King were intimate as well, Warden."

Alistair said nothing, dropping his eyes. The Dalish picked up his fork and toyed with it for a moment before he answered, his voice soft and measured.

"We are not… together in that way. Not at present. We share a bed, but nothing else. When Alistair and I were taken to Fort Drakon after killing Howe and finding your brother, I was tortured. And the jailors there did…other things as well. This has made it…impossible for me to be…as you put it…intimate since that time. Alistair and I both hope that we may be able to overcome this, but I think it will take a long time, if it ever happens. And for that reason, I would prefer him to marry a woman he could actually fall in love with. No offense to you, my lady."

"None taken," Alfstanna said, but her brow was furrowed as she contemplated what must have befallen the Warden. She looked across the table at her lover and found Shenly's eyes dark and smoldering with sympathetic anger as well. "There was what, a week, between the time you were in Drakon and you killed the Archdemon?"

"It was actually twelve days."

"How in the name of the Maker did you manage that?"

"Two very good mages exerting their powers to the utmost are the only reason I was not crippled for life," came the Dalish's quiet answer. "My hands and legs were broken." Shenly visibly flinched at that. "But I was only barely back on my feet at the Landsmeet. That was why Alistair did all the fighting."

Alfstanna, remembering the savage ferocity with which Alistair had battled Loghain, thought she might now understand where the anger had come from.

"Lhaine," the King was addressing his friend. "I know that Dalish bonding is something that happens only between two people who love each other, but human marriages are often made for other reasons. Noble marriages in particular are very seldom love matches. But I like Alfstanna and I respect her. I think we would do well together and I think perhaps that we both have similar ideas about what Ferelden should become. Of all the women I've met since I started looking for a bride, she is the only lady I can say that of. Can you trust me when I say I don't feel like I'm getting a bad bargain out of this? That is, if she actually says yes." He looked at Alfstanna. "And before you tell me your decision, my lady, I need to give you another piece of information. It's difficult for Grey Wardens to have children. We might not be able to make an heir at all, or another for Waking Sea, though I'm certainly willing to give it a fair try."

Alfstanna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I appreciate your candor, Your Majesty."

Shenly, looking from one to the other of them, spoke suddenly. "While we're being so honest and everything, Your Majesty, there's something you should know."

Alfstanna shot bolt upright, her face pale. "Shenly, _no_!"

Shenly glanced at the King, who looked mildly curious, and the Warden, his brow cocked inquisitively. The King seemed a decent enough sort for a shem and perhaps the Warden would intercede for her. Even were that not the case, she was not going to let Alfstanna sell herself into broodmare servitude!

"_No_, 'Stanna, I told you before! I'm not going to let you do something like this just to protect me!" She lifted her chin and before she could have second thoughts about it, blurted out, "My real name is Shaura Tabris. I'm Bann Shianni's cousin. And I'm the elf who killed Vaughan Kendall, and Lords Jonaley and Braden."

* * *

><p>Silence fell. Shenly could feel Alfstanna's eyes upon her, the bann's expression aghast. The King's eyebrows went up, but he didn't immediately jump up to ring the bell to summon the guard. "Really?" She nodded. "The murder investigation <em>has<em> crossed my desk, as a piece of unfinished business. Why don't you tell me why you did that? Will you swear on your honor right now that you will tell me the truth?"

Shenly nodded, looking Alistair squarely in the eyes. "Yes, Sire. I promise to tell the truth in the name of the Maker and his Bride." She took a deep breath and began. "It was my wedding day." Looking at Lhaine, she explained, "Warden, your Dalish may marry for love, but we do things differently in the alienages. You're not an adult until you are married and your marriage is arranged for you. We have matchmakers who travel between the different alienages, brokering marriages."

"Do you meet your intended spouse before you are wed? Do you have the chance to get to know one another?" Lhaine asked, his green eyes alight with curiosity.

"Not as a rule. Though some people do sneak out to peek before the ceremony. I did."

"I hope you will excuse me if I say that seems very strange to me. To bind yourself in marriage for life to some stranger you have never met before."

"It works out better than you might think, most of the time. The matchmakers are pretty good. And it's a way of mixing the blood. You know, so that it won't get too thin from relatives marrying each other."

"I certainly do know about that. We have our _Arlathvhen_ festival for the very same reason."

"What is that?"

"Later. I do not wish to interrupt your account."

"My father's name is Cyrion Tabris. He worked for years as a house servant in Bann Roden's estate here in Denerim. He was more careful than most with his money, so he had a bit put by. I'm his only child and though I wasn't happy at the idea of marrying a stranger, he was set on grandchildren, as you might imagine. So he paid the matchmakers well and told them to find me a really good husband. My cousin Soris was going to wed upon the same day. I went to find him and he told me about my husband. He said Nelaros was a real prize, that he was from the Highever alienage; a smith, which is always a good living and very handsome. Soris had already peeked and wasn't so happy with his bride, Valora. She was very sweet, but not very pretty and he said she squeaked like a mouse."

Shenly looked around the table at her audience. "So we went to find them and take a look before the ceremony. Nelaros _was_ handsome. His hair was much the same color as yours, Warden, but he had blue eyes and very broad shoulders for one of our people, probably from all the smithing. We talked a bit and he seemed very nice. I still didn't like the idea of marrying, but I couldn't fault my father's choice. Nelaros seemed pleased with me and talked like he wanted to give me a good life." She sighed and took a drink of her wine.

"While we were all there, Vaughan Kendall came into the alienage with Braden and Joneley, looking for elf girls. He wanted to party. We didn't know it was him and when he got fresh with Shianni, she cracked him over the head with a bottle. Then one of his friends told us who he was. Shianni was terrified, but I chased them off. Then I went to get dressed for the ceremony. On the way back to my house, I met a Grey Warden named Duncan. He was talking with the hahren."

Alistair sat up. "_Duncan_ was in the alienage?"

The bodyguard nodded. "He said that he was looking for recruits, and that he'd tried to recruit my mother Adaia once upon a time. I thought he might be looking me over, but Hahren Valendrian told him I was getting married that day, so he gave it up."

"Duncan had wanted to make your mother a Warden?" the king asked, intrigued.

Shenly nodded. "Mother is the person who taught me how to fight. She told me we needed to stand up for ourselves. She was standing up for herself when six _shemlen_ ganged up on her and killed her." Alistair winced. "Father was never comfortable that I knew how to fight. He told me to keep it a secret from Nelaros-at least until after I was married!" Alfstanna snorted and the elf gave her a fond smile before continuing.

"We were just starting the ceremony when Vaughan came back with his friends, and a party of guards. He snatched five of us women, including me, Valora and Shianni. He intended to use us all, made no bones about it. And he certainly didn't care that we were there getting married. He even told our grooms that they could have us back when he was done with us and we'd only be slightly the worse for wear."

"Maker!" the King exclaimed. "He was a pig!"

"This went on all the time, Your Majesty," Alfstanna said. "Everyone knew about it. Vaughan was notorious for the way he predated upon elves, though most of the time it was elven prostitutes or girls who ventured out of the alienage to work. The nobles at court tended to look down their noses at him because he had a preference for elves, _not_ because he was a rapist! I suppose he felt that with Urien away at Ostagar, he could do as he pleased and take what he wanted from the alienage itself." The young bann's fair-complexioned face was flushed. She tended to get angry any time Shenly spoke of the abduction.

"I tried to fight, but Vaughan knocked me out," the bodyguard continued. "When I woke up, I was in a room in the Arl of Denerim's house. All the other girls were there, except for Shianni. Some guards came in and tried to drag Nola, one of the other girls, off. To Vaughan and his friends, I guess. When she protested, he cut her throat, just like that. Like she was nothing. Just an animal in his way." Shenly blinked a couple of times, and shook her head a little oddly. Alistair, watching, was reminded of how strange Lhaine had been when he'd first awakened after his torture.

"I looked up," the elf woman continued. "Thought I was seeing things. _Soris_ was in the doorway and he slid a sword to me along the floor. I grabbed it, went for the guard and took him down." She took another, bigger drink. "I don't remember much about the first bit of fighting. Soris had a crossbow when he came in. He told me that when we'd been taken, the other elves had written us off, except for Nelaros, who said that they must do something. So the Grey Warden had come up with extra weapons of his to give to the two of them and they'd broken into the estate. Soris said Nelaros was waiting for us and that he could actually fight."

Alfstanna reached all the way across the table then, to touch her lover's hand. Shenly looked up at her and gave her a bleak smile.

"Soris had a sword and shield of his own soon enough, after I killed some more guards. We both put armor on too. We fought our way back to where Nelaros was supposed to be waiting for us. Just as we came up, we saw the guard captain run him through. I killed the guard captain and held Nelaros while he died. He gave me my wedding ring." She lifted her hand to show the simple band of gold, beautifully engraved with leaves. "He'd made it himself. He'd told me when we first met that gold work wasn't his specialty, but that he'd wanted to craft it for his bride himself." She blinked a couple of times again.

"I sent the other women out at that point and Soris and I went to look for Shianni. We found her in Vaughan's quarters. He and his friends had already had their way with her." Alistair was looking grim by now, and Alfstanna didn't think that grimness was directed towards Shenly.

"Vaughan offered us forty sovereigns to walk away and leave the women. I told him that they were already gone and that he was a dead man. Then we started to fight. He and his friends weren't all that great, for being nobles who had had lessons and all. Still, there were three of them and they'd had some training. When it was done, they were all dead and I was pretty badly wounded." Shenly placed a hand to her stomach, right below the rib cage. "I knew I was done for, and Soris did too. I told him to get back to the alienage, and when the guards came, to say I'd done it all. Then I left and made sure there was a clear blood trail down to the river."

"Why didn't you go back?" Alistair asked. "Duncan would have helped you, I'm sure. He probably would have conscripted you. They couldn't touch you then."

"I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that they'd tear the Alienage apart looking for me, so they had to know that I wasn't there." She gave the King a grim look. "Alienages have had the gates dropped and been put to the torch for a lot less than the killing of three lords, Your Majesty. I couldn't let that happen to my people."

"You were buying your clan's safety with your life," Lhaine said, his golden voice rich with approval. Shenly pondered this for a moment, then nodded.

"I guess so. Our shopkeeper had healing potions, but I wasn't about to lead the _shemlen_ back to the alienage. So I went down to the water and threw myself in. Then Alfstanna came along."

The two men looked at the bann, who shrugged. "I like to row on the river when I'm in Denerim. It's good exercise for the arms. I'd been down almost to the mouth of the Drakon and was coming back to my house when I saw this blood-soaked figure in armor stagger down to the water's edge and throw itself in. So I rowed close, anchored the boat, and went in after it." She smiled a little. "Fortunately, Shenly had gone under in relatively shallow water. She hadn't waded out far enough. I was able to wade to her and drag her back to the boat. It was difficult, but I managed to heave her up into it. I ditched the armor, bound her wound and rowed her back to my house."

"She had to sink her boat later because I'd bled all over it and she couldn't get the blood off," Shenly said a bit morosely. "She said she didn't want anyone to be able to track me through the boat. She _liked_ that boat."

"And I bought another one later," Alfstanna said firmly. "_Enough_ about the blighted boat!" The craft had apparently been the subject of argument before. She looked up at the King. "Shenly was sick for weeks. She'd been gut-riven, and the river water had gotten into it. She'd been healed, but the fever nearly killed her nonetheless. I heard bits of her tale while she was being tended, and put my ear to the ground. Vaughan Kendall's murder was all over the city." She gave her lover a fond look. "I owed her a debt of thanks. Arl Urien had been pressing me hard to marry that bastard and though I liked Urien a lot, I didn't want to have anything to do with Vaughan and knew that it would probably hurt Urien's feelings if I married his son and then had to castrate him." Both of the men reflexively flinched a little and Alfstanna smiled a decidedly unpleasant smile.

"And don't think I wouldn't have! Under the circumstances, I decided it would be best to take Shenly home to Waking Reach. She convalesced there. I had to pull some strings, but I got her an identity and papers that said she was member in good standing of the Mercenary Guild in Tantervale. She became my bodyguard. And eventually, other things."

"So you knowingly harbored the murderer of three Ferelden noblemen?" Alistair asked, his tone formal.

"Absolutely," Alfstanna said, lifting her chin. "Though I'd hardly call it murder if you're fighting three-to-two odds and all parties have swords in their hands. Three-to-one, really-Soris wasn't trained. Besides, I knew there was no justice for the likes of Shenly. And when you _know_ justice won't be given to you, you sometimes have to make it for yourself."

"I suppose that's true. Any elf crying rape to the guard during that period would have been ignored at best," Alistair said. "I'm hoping to change that." He turned his gaze upon Shenly, his tone becoming formal once more.

"Shaura Tabris, you have confessed of your own volition to the killing of Vaughan Kendall, heir to the Arldom of Denerim, and to the killing of the lords Jonaley and Braden. The penalty for such crimes is death." Alfstanna began to protest, but the King cut her off with a gesture. "However, there are extenuating circumstances-namely the unlawful abduction of yourself and other Elven women with the stated intent to rape yourself and said women and the rape of your cousin Shianni. There is also the unwarranted murder of one of your number, the elf Nola. You were undoubtedly in fear for your life at the time. Therefore, as King of Ferelden, ultimate arbiter of justice in the land, I rule that those killings were not in fact murder, but done in self-defense and as such, you are innocent of the charges." Shaura Tabris gaped at him. Alfstanna was beaming.

"I think the best thing to do here," Alistair said in his usual voice, "is for me to simply close the investigation. I will say that I don't see how the perpetrator can ever be found this late in the day when, from every indication, said perpetrator died in the Drakon. Should someone ever accuse you of the crime, feel free to refer them to me. Now-this occurred over a year ago, right?" Shaura nodded. "Have you seen your father in all that time?"

"No, Your Majesty. Though Shianni has given him news of me and I have sent letters to him through her."

"Well, why don't you go and see him then? Give him the good news."

"I will, Your Majesty! _Thank you_, Your Majesty!" The habitual glower was gone, Shaura's face alight. _She's stunning when she smiles, _Alistair thought. _I see what Alfstanna sees in her._

"I think I will go with Mistress Tabris, Alistair," Lhaine put in suddenly. "I am sure that you and Bann Alfstanna still have much to discuss."

"Take an escort, Lhaine."

The Warden sighed and nodded. "I will, Your Majesty. If you will excuse me, Bann Alfstanna," he said, bowing as he rose.

"Of course, Warden. And thank you for your care for my companion."

"It is my pleasure." He went off into his bedroom to return a couple of minutes later with his two swords strapped over his back and his mabari at his side. "After you, Mistress Tabris," he said, gesturing towards the door. The two elves left. When they were gone, Alfstanna leaned back in her chair, looking at Alistair intently. He endured the scrutiny for a moment; then, smiling a little, he spoke.

"I've got this idea, you see, about a Ferelden where there aren't any alienages. Maybe not even any Circles, or at least not Circles that are jails. Where it doesn't matter if you're an elf or a dwarf or a human or a mage, just that you're Fereldan. What do you think of that?"

"That you're daft," Alfstanna said promptly. "Mad as a hatter. You'll piss off the Chantry, most of the nobles, a good many of the humans at first. Maybe even the people you're trying to help. People are afraid of change. I don't even know if it can be done." His face fell, and she grinned suddenly. "But I happen to think it's worth trying for. So I must be daft too." Watching the hope blossom on his face, she smiled, stood, moved around the table and bent to lightly kiss his lips. "Maker help us both, but I will marry you, Alistair Theirin."


	6. Chapter 6

Many thanks to mille libri, Ventisquear and Ygrain33 for reviewing the last chapter and all of those that are lurking and alerting!

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><p>The walk from the Palace district to the Alienage was a long trek down the hill, not unpleasant in the cool spring night. Shaura was rather astonished to find herself making it at all, much less in the company of the Hero of Ferelden and with an escort of <em>shemlen<em> guards! The guards hung back at the Warden's request and she cast a surreptitious glance at him as they traveled; taller than most of the city elves, exotic looking with those tattoos of his all over his face. Some of the gangers she had known had had tattoos, but those didn't look like these, all ornate and scrolling. And these must have hurt to have done-much of the work was on skin thinly stretched over bone and that was always more painful than tattoos over fleshier parts of the body.

"Warden. Do all of the Dalish have tattoos like yours?" she asked a little shyly, afraid he'd be offended, but Lhaine Mahariel merely nodded.

"Those of us who are of age. It is a…I suppose you would say a rite of adulthood to take the _vallaslin_. If you cannot endure the pain of it, then you are not ready. But there is no shame in that. Everyone grows up at a different rate."

"Do they mean something? Or are the designs all unique?"

There was approval in his green eyes. "They do indeed mean something. The design of the _vallaslin_ indicates which of the Creators you feel the closest kinship with."

"Which one is yours? I mean, which design?"

"Mine honors Andruil. She is the goddess of the hunt. I was a hunter for the clan before I became a Grey Warden."

"So there aren't any darkspawn-killing Creators? What happens if you feel different about things later on? You can't change the tattoos."

"A good question. What you say is true. And no, there isn't a Creator who specifically defends from darkspawn. But there is Mythal, the Mother. She is our protector, so a Dalish in fear of his or her life from any source, including darkspawn, would call upon her. I suspect that I am more hers now than Andruil's, in truth. It doesn't matter if you change your patron later-since elves take the _vallaslin _in early adulthood, it happens often enough. People change as they grow."

"Are there any other Creators you feel close to?"

"I called upon Elgar'nan once, in extremity. He is our father and the god of vengeance as well." The Warden's eyes looked haunted of a sudden and Shaura kicked herself mentally. She was pretty sure she knew when that calling had occurred. "I called upon him, and I was answered."

"_Answered_?"

"Yes. But I would rather not speak of it."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"You needn't be. You are curious. It is understandable. We must seem very strange to you."

"But nice." That dispelled the moment of gloom and won her a flashing white smile.

"Thank you." His hand ruffled the ears of the dog pacing at his side.

"That Arlathian thing you spoke of earlier. What is that?"

"Oh, yes. I am sorry. I did promise to tell you of that, didn't I? That is the _Arlathvhen_, the Great Gathering. Every ten years, all of the clans who can do so gather together in one place. There we exchange news, trade the ancient artifacts of our people around, settle any disputes and celebrate."

"It sounds like quite the party."

"It is. The only one I attended as an adult was six years ago."

"So-do you shuffle people around then too? To avoid the blood thinning? You said that was what the Arlathvhen did."

"In a manner of speaking. Sometimes folk change clans, for various reasons. If folk from two clans bond, then obviously one of them will have to go to the other's clan. It's not always the man or always the woman-each case is different. For another example; the Keeper of a clan is the custodian of the old lore and is always a mage. But my clan didn't have any mages other than our current Keeper, Marethari. Another clan had several mage-gifted children so they gave our clan one of them, Merrill, to be Marethari's First, or successor."

"How did Merrill feel about that?"

"I know that she was sad, leaving her family and all the people she knew. And it is a great responsibility, being First, knowing that you will be Keeper one day. But she has done very well."

"You mentioned the festival. Is that how people get shuffled around?"

The Warden smiled. "You might say so. The festival itself is held at the end of the _Arlathvhen_. It's a big party in which all the unbonded young adults are encouraged to…get to know one another, if you take my meaning. Sometimes children result from this knowledge, children with the blood of two clans. They're called festival children and are considered gifts from the Creators, gifts that allow us to grow our numbers safely. There is no shame in bearing a festival child-we Dalish have no bastards."

"So-you went to the festival, I assume." The Dalish nodded. "Did you father one of these festival children?"

"I did. I have a daughter in Llommerryn. Her name is Danae."

Shaura's eyes widened. "Have you ever seen her?"

"No. I hope to, one day. Perhaps at the next Arlathvhen. I am told that she has her mother's dark hair, but my eyes. Her mother is a skilled woodworker." He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out something small, wrapped in a piece of cloth. Unwrapped, it was an amulet, carved over every inch with vines and leaves. A halla head peeked out from an opening in the vegetation.

Shaura looked but did not touch. "It's beautiful!" Mahariel nodded as he re-wrapped it and stowed it away once more.

"Yes. Danae's mother, Jaella, gave it to me as a festival token. I keep it with me. Perhaps one day I'll give it to Danae. Jaella married another wood-worker. I hear that they do a brisk business with the shemlen in Llommerryn. The Rivaini are much more tolerant of us than other humans are. We have a permanent camp there."

"Does the King know you have a daughter?"

"He does. I told him early on, soon after he revealed his true identity to me." A smile of reminiscence came over Mahariel's face. "Alistair was intrigued to hear about bastards that were considered a blessing rather than an inconvenience and I thought the knowledge would be good for him, give him perspective."

"You love him, don't you?"

A nod. "As you love your bann."

Shaura frowned. "It's not considered a good thing, you know, what 'Stanna and I get up to. Not only is she a _shem_, but I won't get any children with her. You're shirking your duty to your people if you're not married and dropping an elf baby every other year."

"My people would think the same thing about my relationship with Alistair, and for the very same reason. Though in a way, I am not truly of the Sabrae anymore. I am of all clans or none, depending upon how you think of it." The Dalish smiled wryly. "Having managed to stop a Blight and give my people a homeland, I suspect I will be allowed a little eccentricity."

"I should think so!"

They walked in silence for a little while, then the Warden said, "That was a brave thing that you did tonight."

Shaura blushed a little at the praise. She hoped that it would not be noticed in the dark. "'Stanna has been so good to me. She got me healed up, bought me things, made me learn to read better. All the really hard words. She makes me use them, talking to her. And she's been teaching me high-born manners, though that's an uphill battle, I can tell you." The Warden smiled. "She even got me people to teach me better sword skills. A while back, she said that she suspected you and the King were together and thought that it might be a good idea to marry him, so there wouldn't be any scandal. She also said she wanted to do it to protect me. I couldn't let her do it for that reason, so I went ahead and confessed."

"You couldn't have known that Alistair would exonerate you."

"I didn't. To be honest, I was hoping _you _might put a good word in." Again, that flashing white smile.

"I would have been glad to, had it been necessary. But Alistair is a fair and just individual."

"I'll say! Long live King Alistair!"

Mahariel chuckled, then sobered. "Will you be all right with sharing Alfstanna with him?"

"I'll have to be, won't I? And besides, I'm thinking that the two of them being together will be very good for the elves." Shaura gave her companion a side-long look. "What about you? Are you all right sharing?"

"I will have to be as well. And I certainly don't have the long-established intimate relationship with Alistair that you have with Alfstanna. I think perhaps that it will work out for the best in the end, despite my earlier objection. They may even come to care for each other in time. Love is very seldom just about sex."

"I guess that's true."

The gates of the alienage lay before them.

"I know it's true. Come, let me see you home."

* * *

><p>Lhaine left the escort at the gate of the alienage. "We'll wait for you, sir," the captain said. "The King would have our heads did we not. But by all means, take your time."<p>

"Thank you, captain." He, Dagger and Shaura proceeded across the bridge, which was still a board span in the middle from where the Archdemon had broken it. On the other side, proper boardwalks had been laid over the mud, instead of the random pieces of wood that had greeted Lhaine before. Even at this hour of the night there were lanterns lit and the sounds of hammering and sawing. Elves were out and about in the mild evening air and it was not long before they were noticed.

"The Warden!" "The Warden is here!" "And…_Shaura?_" Gawkers began to gather as they approached the door of Cyrion's house.

Shaura looked about at her audience, looked at the door; then, stealing herself, opened it. She stepped into the house, while Lhaine waited by the door. Cyrion was sitting by the fire, reading. His head turned quickly at the sound of the opening door, and then froze, motionless. His book dropped to the floor, unheeded.

"_Shaura?_" he breathed, and the next moment his daughter was before him, pulling him up out of the chair and into her arms. Lhaine smiled and closed the door softly.

He found Bann Shianni behind him, drawn by the hubbub. Bowing, he said, "My lady, your cousin has been returned to you."

Shianni's face was a study in amazement. "Maker! How did _that _happen? It seems we owe you our thanks once again, Warden." Mahariel drew her aside, away from the gathering crowd.

"I had nothing to do with it, my lady," he said in a low voice. "Your thanks belong rightly to King Alistair. Shaura confessed to him of her own volition what happened in the Arl of Denerim's estate. He was most moved by her account and ruled that she acted in self-defense."

"Self-defense? There's a new idea-that an elf has the right to defend him or herself! I do so like King Alistair! That was very generous of him. I must thank him privately when I get the chance." The young bann smiled. "Oh, but it will be _good_ to have Shaura around again!"

"I don't know how much you will actually see of her in the alienage. She still has her duties to Bann Alfstanna."

The elven bann's smile went away as swiftly as it had come. "You mean she's not going to give that up? She's not getting any younger. She needs a husband!"

"Given what happened to the last man she was promised to, I don't think that is going to happen any time soon, my lady, if ever at all. But please believe me when I tell you that I think Shaura can do the most good for her people exactly where she is."

Shianni's nose wrinkled. "If you say so, Warden, though I can't say I like it. But enough of that!" She looked at the gathered elves in front of Cyrion's door and raised her voice in command. "Borstan, Gyles, go break out those casks of wine we've been saving for a celebration. I was going to keep them for when the first of the new houses was finished, but my cousin's back, so we'll celebrate that tonight instead!"

A cheer went up from the elves and they all scurried off to make preparations. Shianni inclined her head politely to Lhaine.

"While we're waiting for them to get ready, perhaps you'd like to take a tour and see what we've done to date, Warden. The King's not had time to come down here recently and you could take him a report."

"That I will gladly do, my lady."

* * *

><p>Alistair and Alfstanna decided that they would announce their betrothal the following evening at dinner and soon after that parted company, Alistair giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek, which was received well enough. After she had departed, he virtuously went over some documents he'd brought back from the Council that were on his desk, did a bit of recreational reading and finally decided to ready himself for bed.<p>

Lhaine had not returned by then, so Alistair turned in. Much later in the night, he awoke to the sound of the door opening and the feel of his fellow warden. He waited, listening to Lhaine move about in the other room. Eventually, his silhouette appeared in the door and he slipped silently into the room. Moving over to the bed, he slid equally silently under the covers and cuddled close to Alistair, humming softly, clad in an old shirt and breeches again.

"I was getting worried."

A soft chuckle was his answer. "Bann Shianni decided to celebrate her cousin's return and broke out the wine. We had an impromptu street party. I gather it doesn't take much for Shianni to break out the wine, which is probably part of the reason she's very popular with her people."

"Are you drunk? Did you have a good time?"

There was a silence as Lhaine considered the question. "No," he said at last. "Just a little loose and comfortable. Not enough to be hung over tomorrow. I had a very good time. Shaura had a better one. She _is_ going to be hurting tomorrow. I had to help her back up the hill." He tucked his face into Alistair's neck and the feel of his warm breath on the sensitive skin there traveled straight to Alistair's groin. The king groaned.

"Maker! I'm sorry, Lhaine," and he started to move away, to slide out of the bed. That deceptively strong arm snaked across his chest to pin him.

"The fault is mine, _vhenan'ara_. I do not mean to tease. By all means, ease yourself. It will not distress me. Though I cannot bear to be touched, I'm not opposed to doing a little touching myself."

Alistair turned his head to look at the elf, whose outline could only be dimly seen. "Are you sure? I don't want to frighten you."

"Go ahead. We will see what happens." That was hardly the most encouraging thing he could have said, but since Lhaine seemed determined, Alistair slid over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and pulled a handkerchief out of the drawer there. He then moved back to the middle. Lhaine cuddled close once again and reveling in the feel of the elf pressed against his side, he took himself in hand.

Lhaine's fingertips moved lightly over his face as he pumped and the elf breathed into his neck and ear once more, this time intentionally. The hand then actually moved down into the neck of his night shirt and teased his nipples, lightly tracing circles around the pebbled points. Alistair groaned.

"This isn't going to take long." Lhaine did not reply and over the next few minutes his hand never moved lower than Alistair's chest, but it moved over that circumscribed area of face, neck, ears and chest freely enough. Just the fact that Lhaine was voluntarily touching him was almost enough to bring Alistair and when the elf's teeth actually gently nipped his ear lobe it sent him over the edge with a stifled cry.

Lhaine moved away a little while Alistair was cleaning himself up, but curled back up against his side willingly enough when he was done. Sated, the King drifted into a contented sleep, stroking the silky head resting on his shoulder until he was lost in slumber.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ar tu na'din! Ar tu na'din!" <em>Lhaine's voice crying out hoarsely in his ear wakened Alistair later that night. The elf was moaning and tossing in the throes of a nightmare beside him and instinctively, his arm tightened about Lhaine. It was a mistake. The struggling became frantic and a fist shot out, striking Alistair upon the cheekbone. He loosened his grip and yelped. The sound woke Lhaine, who thrashed for a moment more before calming somewhat.

"Alistair?" his voice came, still sounding a bit rough.

"I'm here."

"I am sorry to have awakened you."

"It's all right. I'm sorry, Lhaine. I probably set you off, doing what I did." Lhaine rolled away from him and there was a long moment of silence. Then, out of the dark, came the words, soft and despairing.

"You should have let me go."

A wave of pity and sympathy swept over Alistair. "It's not the first time you've said that, Lhaine, and perhaps I should have. It's true that I was being selfish at the time. I knew that you were looking to die and I didn't want to lose you. But didn't you tell me just a little earlier that you had a good time tonight? Aren't you still able to take joy in some things?"

"Sometimes," Lhaine admitted. "For a few minutes, or an hour or two here and there. Occasionally even the space of an entire afternoon or morning. But then something happens and I'm _there_ again and I'm so very tired of it, Alistair. No one wants to move past this more than I do. And here, in Denerim, it's worse. Fort Drakon is just _looming_ up there, over everything. And I keep thinking-what if I see one of them in the street? What if I look in his eyes and know that he's thinking about what he did to me and _wants to do it again_? How is it that I could kill an Archdemon, three dragons, several demons, countless darkspawn and still be afraid of some mere _shemlen_?"

"Because the dragons and the rest of it didn't have you at a disadvantage. You weren't bound and helpless when you faced them." Alistair hesitated for a moment, then decided to confess. He thought that Lhaine might be comforted by the information and he'd deal with Zevran later. "Lhaine, you don't need to worry about meeting any of those men ever again. They're all dead."

"_What?_"

"The jailors. They're all of them dead. I mean the five besides the one I killed in Drakon."

"Did you arrest them and hang them?"

"No. I would have could I have found them. Zev and Leli hunted them, starting right after the coronation. They found the four under-jailors and killed them."

"And Saltwell?" There was an odd, strained tone to Lhaine's voice. Without much difficulty at all, Alistair could bring the head jailor's gravelly voice to mind. It had sounded continuously throughout those nightmarish hours, mocking Lhaine and spurring the under-jailors on to ever more inventive torments. Orson Saltwell obviously had a special place in Lhaine's nightmares.

"Zev and Leli captured him and Zev poisoned him with something called lanthrax."

"Creators!" Lhaine gasped. Alistair's eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, but it was still hard to discern Lhaine's exact expression. He really couldn't tell how the news was being received.

"Zev wouldn't tell me a whole lot, other than to say that Saltwell died long and hard, that he lasted almost as long as he had you. Does 'stage seven' mean anything to you? It didn't to me."

"It does." The odd tone was gone. His fellow Warden's voice was now perfectly flat.

"Zevran really didn't want me to tell you, but he said that if I felt it was necessary, I should also tell you this. There is not a _shemlen_ alive in Ferelden today who can boast that he had Lhaine Mahariel against his will."

Silence fell. Lhaine moved suddenly, almost spasomodically, turning away from Alistair, burying his face in the pillow on the other side of the bed. Moments later, Alistair heard a sound, a soft, muffled sound. It was soon followed by another, then by a third and he finally had to admit to himself that Lhaine was weeping. This left him confounded. He had never known the Dalish to cry, no matter how badly hurt he'd been, no matter what had happened. Even in that utmost extremity of pain, those last few moments before rescue in Drakon, Lhaine had not wept. Of course, it was entirely possible that he cried himself to sleep every night when among his own people, that he'd put a good face on things for Zevran during his visit. But in all of Alistair's experience, Lhaine Mahariel did not weep.

Not certain of what to do, Alistair gingerly reached out and laid his hand upon the elf's shaking shoulder. When it was not rebuffed, he moved closer himself.

"Lhaine?"

The next moment, he had his arms full of weeping elf. Holding Lhaine gently with one arm, his free hand stroking the Dalish's head and back, Alistair found himself murmuring incoherent, comforting nonsense as the shoulder of his nightshirt got soaked. Eventually the sobs subsided and Lhaine croaked, "Handkerchief?"

"We're going through them tonight, aren't we?" Alistair said gently. He slid over so that he could get one out of the nightstand drawer for Lhaine; then, after a moment's thought, disentangled himself from his friend, got up, took another over to the washstand and dampened it in the water. He could hear Lhaine blowing his nose behind him and when he returned, the elf accepted the damp cloth gratefully and wiped his face with it.

"Thank you, Alistair. _Abelas_. I…what you told me just took me oddly."

"Don't apologize. It was probably good for you to let some of that out. If you ever want to…talk about what happened, I'm willing to listen. It's not like I don't have some idea already."

Lhaine shuddered. "I don't think I can. Not yet. Perhaps one day." His voice was despondent. "You deserve better…"

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with."

"Almost anyone could give you more than I can."

"That again? Lhaine, you need to get over this idea that I'm being deprived just because I can't put my dick in you or you don't want to put yours in me. Give me an honest answer here-would you _mind_ if I went to The Pearl every now and again to ease my urges? I'm not saying that I would. I just want to know that if it came to that, would you mind?"

"No, of course not. It would be extremely hypocritical of me."

"Do you think Alfstanna would care?"

"Probably not," came the reluctant admission.

"I know she wouldn't. She'd probably actually be relieved. See? Problem solved. Alistair is not going to become a sex-deprived lunatic and run through the streets of Denerim in his royal small clothes."

There was a silence for a moment, then a watery chuckle. "I remember that. Lothering. You and Morrigan. That seems to be a recurring theme for you."

"That's because it's a recurring _dream_ for me. Damned embarrassing, let me tell you. I almost prefer the darkspawn!" Alistair sighed. "Lhaine, look. I grew up for most of my life believing that I was going to be a _Templar_. The next best thing to totally celibate for the rest of my life_._ Some Templars do marry, but it's frowned upon. _Anything_ I get in the way of sex now is a bonus as far as I'm concerned. This marriage with Alfstanna…I know you don't entirely approve, but I'll guarantee you that it will be a good deal better than what most royal marriages are. And it means that not only do I get you, I get children as well. Win-win for me! For Ferelden too, I think-Alfstanna is going to be a great queen. And as far as you lacking in the sexual area goes, you should know that for me what we did earlier this evening was _marvelous_, because you were there and giving me everything you could give at the moment. It was enough, okay? On top of that, we're both Wardens. Our lives are going to be short enough as it is. _Don't _make me spend mine without the person I love, _emma vhenan'ara_."

"You know what that means, don't you?" Lhaine asked quietly.

"Yes, I do. My heart's desire. You called me that for the first time in Drakon, when you were dying and told me to find out what it meant. So when I brought Ashalle over for the ceremony, I asked her and she told me. I can't say she was very happy when she found out the context, but she did tell me." Alistair got back into the bed, reached out and cautiously slid an arm under his beloved. "Come back over here." Lhaine complied willingly enough, laying his head upon Alistair's shoulder once more. Alistair could feel the heat of his reddened face through the nightshirt.

"I don't know how much time you're going to want to spend with your people, getting Halalmshiral going. I don't really know that we'll be together all that much. But any time you can give me, I will treasure. All right?"

"All right. _Abelas_, Alistair."

"Another Dalish word I know the meaning of from long repetition. Maybe if someone wasn't so- What was it Daveth called you? Starchy?- he wouldn't have to apologize so damned much!"

Lhaine's hand lifted and his fingers lightly rapped Alistair's chest. When he spoke, it was with much more of his usual spirit. "And maybe if a certain big _shem_ wasn't so damned _talkative_, I could actually get some sleep!"

Alistair laughed, turned his head and placed a gentle kiss on Lhaine's brow. Neither of them said anything more, but drifted off to sleep and slept deeply and undisturbed until morning.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to lynn-writer, mille libri and Ygraine33 for your reviews on the last chapter. I appreciate the interest and support!

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><p>The royal herald Rolf Pertwee prided himself upon doing his job in the most precise, professional and unemotional manner possible. So his enunciation was clear and crisp the next evening at dinner, as he announced the last of the nobles entering the dining hall.<p>

"Eamon Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe, Chancellor of the Realm. Isolde Guerrin, Arlessa of Redcliffe. Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere. Alfstanna Ayersley, Bann of Waking Sea. Ser Irminric Ayersley." That name drew some stares and some whispers, this being the first time Alfstanna's brother had appeared at a court function since his rescue from Howe's dungeon. He was dressed in a sober doublet of hunter green, matching his sister's lighter green gown nicely. Though her hand was resting on his arm, Irminric seemed composed enough, even smiling a bit. The bann's eternal bodyguard was also in attendance, though she did not rate an announcement.

"Master Zevran Aranai. Mistress Leliana. Senior Enchanter Wynne." Master Pertwee began to suspect some surprise was in the offing. All three of the Blight Companions rarely attended dinner all at once. He looked down the hall at the last two approaching personages and knew it. His staff rapped upon the floor three times, loudly, to get the attention of all in the hall.

"All rise for His Royal Majesty, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden!" The King stepped into the hall and all rose to their feet, save for the Revered Mother, also seated at the high table. But he was not the last person to come in and Master Pertwee found that he could not be unemotional after all, for his oldest son was in the army and the slim blond figure slipping in like a shadow behind the King had saved him in battle personally.

"Attend, Ferelden!" he found himself crying joyously. "Give you glad welcome to Grey Warden Lhaine Mahariel, the _Hero of Ferelden_!"

And everyone in the hall raised a cheer that shivered the very banners on the rafters.

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><p>The King and the folk who had entered with him did not seat themselves. Instead, they processed around one end of the tables, which had been set up as an inverted u-shape with the high table at the bottom of the u, into the space between the arms. The Revered Mother rose and followed them.<p>

Alistair watched Lhaine with concern, knowing that this was very hard for him. He'd been amazed in fact that his friend had agreed to do it, remembering how the elf had said that he did not think he could sit at high table. Wanting Lhaine at his side at such an important moment, King had offered to do the ceremony in private at the Chantry with just a few witnesses. But the Dalish had disagreed.

"This is a cause for celebration, Alistair, and Creators know that your people need one right now! I will manage."

And he was managing. He was wearing another of Leliana's fanciful tunics tonight. This one was dark blue with the Warden silver griffon on the shoulder and his hair was done up in the tight, high braid he had been used to wearing during the Blight. Starfang was belted at his side, and he looked very martial even without the armor. Alistair draped a friendly arm about his shoulders, gave him a squeeze and bent his head close to whisper in Lhaine's ear.

"Are you going to be all right?"

A sidelong flash of green eye answered him and Lhaine nodded. "I am good, Alistair." The elf turned his head and encountered Alfstanna's gently sympathetic smile. He actually managed a small smile in return. Alistair let him go and turned to address the room.

"Sorry as I am to keep you gentle folk from your dinners, it's in a good cause. I've asked Bann Alfstanna for her hand in marriage and she has accepted. So the Revered Mother has very graciously agreed to hand-fast us here before you all tonight."

Another cheer rocked the hall, this one punctuated with wolf whistles and the odd suggestive remark. The audience was Ferelden, after all. Alistair, surveying the tables with that friendly Theirin grin of his, saw plenty of approving smiles and the odd island of disappointment, as the women he hadn't selected strove to be civil about it.

"Revered Mother, if you would be so kind?" They swiftly formed up as had been explained to them that afternoon in the impromptu rehearsal; Alistair with Alfstanna on his left hand, the two witnesses Lhaine and Irminric flanking them and the others arranged behind. The Revered Mother moved to the front and the hall quieted.

"Please take hands," she told the couple, who did so. She then lifted a long narrow sash in both of her hands. It was white and gold, Ferelden colors, and very beautifully embroidered.

"Will the witnesses come forward?" Lhaine and Irminric did so, keeping pace with each other and bowed to the Revered Mother when they stood before her.

"Will the witnesses declare themselves before this assembly?" she asked.

"For King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden; Lhaine Mahariel, Grey Warden," came Lhaine's answer. His voice was rock-steady despite his earlier discomfiture.

"For Bann Alfstanna Ayersley of Waking Reach; Ser Irminric Ayersley, formerly of the Templar Order," Irminric declared, his own voice a pleasant tenor, much improved from his weepy disorientation in the depths of Howe's dungeon. The Revered Mother then gave them the stole, which each took carefully by one end, then they turned in unison, walked back to the waiting couple and wrapped the stole about their wrists. When that task was done, each retreated to his former place behind the King and Alfstanna.

Smiling, the Revered Mother took the bound wrists between her own hands. "Before these witnesses, and this company here assembled do you, Alfstanna Ayersley, Bann of Waking Sea, agree to plight your troth with Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, to keep faith with him and him alone until such time as you are united in matrimony or this troth is ended?"

The braids on Alfstanna's fiery head bobbed slightly as she nodded, her voice firm. "I do."

"And do you, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, agree to plight your troth with Alfstanna Ayersley, Bann of Waking Sea, to keep faith with her and her alone until such time as you are united in matrimony or this troth is ended?"

"I do." Alistair's voice was equally firm and he smiled at Alfstanna, who smiled back.

"Then by the authority vested in me by the Divine, and in the presence of these witnesses and the company here assembled, I declare the two of you troth-plighted to each other. May the Maker and his Bride bless this union and the greater one to come. So may it be."

"So may it be," everyone in the room echoed. The Revered Mother unbound their hands and Alistair turned to Alfstanna and kissed her lips gently, whereupon the whole room erupted once more into cheering and laughter. Alistair took her arm in his and they processed back out of the center opening and back up to the high table. The others followed in no particular order. When Alistair reached his chair he raised his hand and announced, "And now, the betrothal feast!" Servants began carrying dishes of food forward as more cheering arose. He seated Alfstanna at his left hand and she beamed at the crowd and waved, obviously enjoying her new status.

Lhaine seated himself at Alistair's right hand, which arrangement was dictated by placards on the table. The Revered Mother was next on that side of the table, followed by Eamon, Isolde, and Teagan. Alfstanna was flanked by her brother, Wynne, Zevran, and Leliana.

Alistair frowned slightly as he saw the seating arrangements. His minister of protocol knew much more than he did about everyone's relative rank, but he would have overruled the man and not put Lhaine next to the Revered Mother if he'd known that was what the minister was going to do. Lhaine was usually able to keep his antipathy towards the Chantry in check, but Alistair didn't want him to have the strain of doing so on top of the strain of being at the feast in the first place. And he wasn't sure that putting Irminric and Wynne together was the best of ideas either.

Keeping a covert eye on things, he found to his relief that Irminric and Wynne were actually conversing quite amiably together about mutual acquaintances. On the other side of the table, everyone seemed to be intent upon eating for the time being. Save for Lhaine, who was pushing his food around the plate in a manner that was quite artistic, but achieved next to nothing in the way of actual consumption. Alistair made a note to have food brought up to the room later. Perhaps Lhaine would feel more like eating then.

Alfstanna then caught his attention to discuss wedding plans with him. That occupied him fully for a while. They had just settled upon Summerday as the best compromise between having time to arrange a proper royal wedding and wanting to get all the fuss over with, when Alistair heard the Revered Mother speak.

"I must say, Warden, I am curious. How is it that one of the Dalish came to become an Andrastean? That is a very rare occurrence."

Alistair winced and cast a look in Lhaine's direction. His Warden brother's face was perfectly calm, though he set his fork down a little harder than he might have ordinarily done. But his voice was civil enough when he responded, "I am not an Andrastean, Your Grace. I don't know where you got the idea that I was."

Puzzlement came over the woman's wizened features. "But you discovered the location of Her Ashes!"

"That is true. But I worship the Creators, as my people have throughout the ages."

"But…" she looked down the table at his companions. "Was it the King then, who achieved the quest? Or perhaps Mistress Leliana?"

"I am sorry, Your Grace," Alistair put in smoothly, "But Lhaine was the primary pilgrim. He was the one who answered all the riddles and he was the one the Guardian granted the privilege of taking some of the Ashes."

"How can that be, if he was not one of the faithful? I mean no offense, Warden," she added swiftly, seeing the King's frown.

"It is a conundrum, isn't it?" Lhaine said coolly and all of a sudden _he_ was back, the Lhaine of before Drakon, charismatic and incisive and sure of himself. "Would you care to know my theory upon the matter?"

"Of course." The Revered Mother was looking belatedly wary now.

"Andraste had no more problem with me touching Her Ashes than she had with working with Shartan to achieve a common goal, despite their differing beliefs. It is her _followers_ who have corrupted her original intentions over the years, believing that the Maker's dictate of having the Chant sung in all corners of Thedas means making _everyone_ submit to the Chantry, including the _elvhen _and the _durgen'len_, who have their own beliefs they are quite happy with and which they held to for centuries uncounted before Andraste was ever born. Logic would dictate that if Andraste herself, who had, you must admit, the best understanding of the Maker's wishes of anyone, did not attempt to convert Shartan or his followers, than the Maker's intention was not to do so either."

"And what do you think that Andraste's original intentions were, Warden? Since you seem to have given so much thought to the matter?" The Revered Mother's tone was frosty now. Both of them were keeping their voices low. Only Alistair and Alfstanna could hear on the one side, and Eamon and Isolde on the other. The Arlessa was looking appalled, while Eamon had an eyebrow raised.

"I think that the Maker does intend all the _shemlen_ of Thedas to worship him, and that you should all settle that matter amongst yourselves without involving the rest of us. As an elf, I am very tired of cleaning _shemlen_ messes up and being kicked in the teeth for it."

"_I beg your pardon?"_

Lhaine's voice was still courteous, but it was no longer cool. "There were no _elven_ magisters in the Golden City, do you not agree?"

"You do have a point about that, Warden. The Tevinter magisters were all human." It was a grudging admission.

"Then you admit the darkspawn are _your_ fault, though other races have paid a heavier price. The d_urgen'len_, for one. For ages my people were a great civilization. They lived in harmony with nature. There was no want or strife among them. Can any _shemlen_ king ever crowned make that claim?" He threw an apologetic look at Alistair before continuing. "Then those who would become the Tevinter magisters came among us. They took our land, destroyed our culture and our civilization, sapped the very span of our existence and enslaved us." He paused to take a gulp of his wine before continuing.

"Shartan was a slave and broke his chains to help _your_ prophet achieve her goals, which at that point ran in tandem with his. Could Andraste have won her victories without Shartan's armies? Most likely not. The Dales were his reward, and for three centuries my people lived there, desiring only to be left alone to live and worship as they wished. Then the Chantry decided that could not be allowed, went against Andraste's original bargain and violated her word, marching upon them, destroying them utterly a second time."

"The Dales were the aggressors in that war!" the Revered Mother exclaimed.

"Is that what your histories say? It is true that they took human cities first, but that was because your missionaries and templars _would not_ _leave them alone_ and continued to invade their borders after being rebuffed! They had retreated from humanity in the hopes of recovering the long lives of their ancestors and to worship their own gods and your people could not accept that. The tales of _my_ folk say that the Chantry spread false rumors of human sacrifice and worse, to whip their followers into a frenzy that resulted in an Exalted March. In any event, the _elvhen _civilization was destroyed a second time and those of my folk who submitted themselves to you were caged in alienages like beasts and only allowed to participate in your religion as second-hand citizens."

"All who come to the Maker are precious in His sight!" the Revered Mother protested. Eyes that had looked the Archdemon in the face regarded her impassively.

"Truly? Then where are the _elvhen_ Mothers and Revered Mothers? Are elves permitted positions in the Chantry as clergy?"

"I…no."

"Then I rest my case. Despite the fact that many of my brethren have submitted utterly to the rule of the Chantry and are in fact devout worshippers of the Maker, you still deny them equality. The Chantry could do much by example to lift the elves it conquered out of squalor. It could even be said that it has an _obligation_ to do so, an obligation that it has not fulfilled." Lhaine smiled. Alistair had seen that smile countless times in battle. "_What one man gains, another has lost. Those who steal from their brothers and sisters do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind. Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart. _Transfigurations 1, verses 2-5. I submit to you, Revered Mother, that your folk have stolen _most of Thedas_ from mine and _you owe us_." He paused to take another drink while the Revered Mother marshaled her thoughts.

"You've read the Chant of Light, Warden?"

"I have. I was not literate when I first became a Warden. Some of my people are, but I was a hunter and did not consider it necessary. There is a very strong oral tradition among my folk and some feel that relying upon writing damages the memory. But it became necessary for the fulfilling of my Warden duties. The King and Mistress Leliana taught me. The only book we were carrying in the party when I began was Leliana's Chant of Light and it was that book that I learned to read first."

"And what did you bring away from it?"

"That parts of it are very beautiful and speak to all beings of compassion and understanding. And that parts of it ensure that your folk will never rest until every race of beings not subscribing to your world view is eliminated from Thedas." Lhaine sighed. "In all of the troubled history between our races my people have _never_ sought to convert humans to the worship of the Creators. We know that they speak only to us. The _durgen'len _do not do Exalted Marches to convert humans to the worship of their Stone. They know that it nurtures only them. It would be _ever so nice_ if the Chantry would extend the same courtesy to _us_!"

Isolde started to open her mouth and say something, only to be stopped by Eamon's hand set firmly upon her arm. The Revered Mother looked as if she'd like to respond, she just couldn't find the words. Lhaine continued, his voice softer now.

"Four hundred years ago, yet _another_ elven slave by the name of Garahel was conscripted into the Grey Wardens and rose through the ranks to become a great general during a time of Blight. Garahel ended the Blight at the cost of his own life. He saved everyone. One might think that out of gratitude for that sacrifice and that succor, the _shemlen _might start treating their _elvhen_ brethren with more respect. It did not happen. We are still the next best thing to chattel, our men murdered, our women raped without recourse under the law." He looked the Revered Mother in the eye, his expression suddenly bleak. "The applause when I came in, the respect everyone seems so frantic to tender to me, it means nothing, Your Grace. Do you know why? _Because I know that nothing will change_. _I_ may be respected, but for those of my people who live among you, nothing will change. I've simply bought them more centuries of servitude."

The Revered Mother dropped her eyes. Lhaine looked over at Alistair and Alfstanna remorsefully. "I apologize, Your Majesty, my lady. This is a happy day for you and I should not spoil it further. So I give you my regards and best wishes and think it best if I retire for now. Everyone has heard more than enough of my opinion for one evening." He stood and bowed, first to Alistair and Alfstanna, then to the Revered Mother and left the hall. A silence fell at his departure, followed by a buzz of speculation when the talk resumed.

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><p>"How much of that did you hear?" Alfstanna asked Shaura later in her bedroom at her townhouse later. The rest of the meal had been uneventful, various nobles coming up to the high table during dinner to tender congratulations. More did the same after dinner and the bann had been later than usual getting back to the house.<p>

"Just a bit here and there. Their backs were to me and I was off to one side," Shaura said. When her mistress predictably started to curse the laces at the back of her gown, the elf moved forward to un-knot them. This put her in close proximity to the back of Alfstanna's neck, one of her favorite places. She kissed it and was rewarded with a shiver.

"_Nice_. Let me tell you what went on." Alfstanna recounted the conversation as best she could remember. Shaura's eyes widened as she continued to unlace the dress.

"Maker's breath! He kills Archdemons and hands Revered Mothers their hats with the Chant as well. What's not to like?"

"Is someone crushing on the Warden?" Alfstanna's tone was jocular.

"No, 'Stanna. Not really. Not like _that_. But he is nice. He was a lot of fun in the alienage the other night. Not stuffy at all. I always heard that the Dalish looked down on us, but he didn't seem to. Did you know that he sings?"

"No. Really?"

"Yes. He has a really nice voice. And he can drum like a _demon_! He ended up drumming most of the later part of the night, everyone liked it so well. The Dalish have cool drum riffs."

"Not to mention that he was nice enough to haul your plastered ass all the way back up the hill."

"There is that." Shaura was unrepentant. "Still, it's kind of surprising that he talked that way to the Revered Mother. It sounds like he was defending my folk more than his own."

"Maybe he felt his people didn't need defending. They just got their own homeland after all."

"Even so, it's kind of nice. And kind of sad. He made a lot of good points."

Alfstanna twisted, attempting to look over her shoulder, then gave it up and simply turned around. "Do you all hate us that much?"

Shaura studied her toes for a moment, then looked back up and met Alfstanna's eyes. "Some of us do. For some damned good reasons, for the most part. That day in Arl Urien's house, I hated all of you and I think I had cause. 'Stanna, you are literally the _first shem_ besides the Mother and that Duncan fellow who ever looked at me as a _person_. But if you'd stood in my way that day, rather than rescuing me when I went into the river, you probably wouldn't be standing here now talking to me. I'd have killed you too and then gone off to die. Unless you were at a distance with a bow, in which case _I_ wouldn't be standing here talking to _you_."

Alfstanna nodded in sad acceptance after a moment. "I guess you're right. It's going to take a lot more of us looking at elves as people before the elves actually begin to trust us in return. The Warden...he can say such things, believe such things, but I know that he loves Alistair."

Shaura looked thoughtful. "Yes, he does. But it's going to take a lot more love between our two races to mend this." She brightened. "So we'd best get started right away." Slipping around to Alfstanna's back once more, she slipped her hands under the gown from the back and unlaced the bann's breastband. Alfstanna sighed in relief, then gasped when clever, sword-callused fingers slid around to the front, found her breasts and began to stroke. Shaura's breath was warm on the back of her neck once more and the young bann chuckled.

"Yes, we'd _definitely_ better get started on that!"

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><p>Alistair had pleaded sudden indisposition to those who had queried him about the Warden's disappearance. Since Lhaine had obviously eaten next to nothing, this was very plausible. It took longer than he would have liked to return to his quarters to check upon his fellow Warden. Well-wishers had to be dealt with and Alfstanna given a very public good-night bussing. But eventually he made his way back to his rooms, closing the door softly behind him. Lhaine was not in the sitting room, but he found him seated on the floor before the fire in his own bedroom, his cloak close about him and Dagger leaning up against him.<p>

"I could be offended if I thought about it long enough," he said cordially, leaning against the door. "I thought you believed me when I told you that I was going to try to make things better for the elves."

Lhaine looked up at him, his eyes less bleak than they'd been at dinner, but still sorrowful. "_Abelas_, Alistair. You have already been much more kind than any other monarch in recent memory to my folk. But I fear that if you do what you intend, establish freedom of religion in Ferelden, make the elves equal citizens, then the Chantry will try to kill you."

"What do you think I keep Zev and Leli and Wynne around for? I'm not a fool, Lhaine. I know I'm in danger in any event. My claim to the throne is not exactly air-tight." He came around to Lhaine's other side, and dropped down to the floor, settling himself close as he had done at countless campfires during the Blight.

"But I've got a choice. I can just warm the throne and keep the status quo going. I'd be safer that way, indubitably. Or I can try to _do_ something to make things _better_ with this power I've been given. I know you and the Maker aren't on speaking terms, but I can't help but think that's what He'd want me to do. And Andraste as well. I think you made some good points there tonight, about her original intention having been corrupted."

"You're not annoyed at what I did?"

"No. And I do apologize for how the seating turned out. I'll be speaking to the master of protocol about that. You had enough to deal with tonight, you didn't need that on top of it. Though I think you might have shaken the Revered Mother's world view more than a little. I'm not sure that's a bad thing."

Lhaine snorted. "I doubt it. She is very comfortable with the way things are. But thank you."

"And thank _you_ for being there for me tonight. I would not have wanted to do that without you." Alistair cocked his head. "Are you hungry at all? I could send for something for you."

The Dalish shook his head and after a moment, moved closer to lay that head upon Alistair's shoulder. Alistair carefully slid his arm under the cloak and drew him close. Lhaine sighed and closed his eyes, smiling.

"Perhaps in a while. I have everything that I need for the moment."


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to Ventisquear, mille libri, elfgirl72, gatorsnacks and Ygraine33 for your very kind words about the last chapter. Your patience has been rewarded-things heat up a bit in this one.

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><p><em>Lhaine wouldn't wake up. Alistair had a dim memory that things should be different, that Lhaine would wake and speak to him, would summon Wolf to shove the jailor against the bars so Alistair could kill him and get the key. But that didn't happen. The jailors had thrown him into the cell, broken and pale, had mocked Alistair and left. Alistair had gathered the elf up ever so carefully, trying to will his own warmth back into Lhaine's body, trying not to cause pain, though that seemed impossible, given the mess of broken bones and lacerated flesh. But Lhaine did not rouse, even though touching and moving him must have been agonizing for the elf. He simply lay in Alistair's arms, going slowly grey, his breath slowing, his body cooling until he finally <em>_**stopped**__. And there was absolutely nothing Alistair could do but watch._

_Alistair tipped his head back and howled._

"Alistair. _Alistair_. Wake up, _emma lath_." The voice was close, speaking into his ear. Alistair shuddered into wakefulness. Relief washed over him as he felt the warmth of a body snuggled close against his side, smelled the herbal soap with which Lhaine washed his hair, felt the silk of that same hair against his cheek when he turned his head.

"Bad dream?" Lhaine asked. Alistair nodded, though the room was dark and the gesture could not be seen, only felt. "Darkspawn?"

"No. I was in Drakon again. You died."

There was a moment of silence, then Lhaine moved and lips brushed lightly against Alistair's jaw. "I am here." Alistair's arm tightened reflexively about Lhaine before he remembered himself and consciously slackened his grip. But the Dalish did not flinch or withdraw, choosing instead to cuddle even more closely, his hand stroking Alistair's chest soothingly.

"And thank the Maker for that! I can't be sorry you're still here, Lhaine. I'm sorry it hurts you to be here, but I'm selfish enough to be glad you're still with me." There was a moment's silence before Lhaine spoke again. When he did so, his voice was reflective.

"I should keep in mind that I am not the only one who was marked by what happened in Drakon."

"It's not the same thing at all! I wasn't tortured like you were."

"Perhaps not, but you endured with me nonetheless. I could feel you through that open door. To be trapped and unable to do something while _you_ were being hurt like that would have driven me mad. I too am selfish enough to be glad that you were there, Alistair, even though it harmed you." Another gentle kiss. "Now-do you think you could sleep again?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe if I rang for a snack…"

"Ah, yes. The miraculous healing power of cheese." Lhaine's amusement could be plainly heard.

"Do not mock the cheese, brother! The cheese knows all. The cheese sees all. The cheese is all-powerful."

"Then by all means, invoke the cheese if it will help you to sleep." Lhaine got out of bed and went into his room to get a robe. He also turned down and rumpled the bed while he was there. Alistair rang for a servant and gave swift and specific orders for a hearty snack when the man arrived. The Dalish poked the fire in the sitting room back up while they waited for the food, which was not long in coming. There was cider and cheese and fresh-baked bread with butter for Alistair and several still warm, newly-made pastries for Lhaine, who lifted an eyebrow.

"I shall be fat if I keep eating these," he said, when the servant had bowed and withdrawn, although he was already selecting his first one.

"You've a _long_ way to go before you become anything close to _fat,_" Alistair growled. "And besides, you won't be getting any of these on the ship, so eat up."

"There is that. I do wonder what a sea journey will be like. Hopefully I will fare better than my clan's halla did." Lhaine inhaled his chosen pastry in several swift bites.

"I wish I could go with you," Alistair said around a mouthful of cheese. "I would if I could."

"I wish you could go as well. But at least Zevran will be with me. And I promise, I shan't tarry any longer than necessary. I shall be back in time for the wedding, even if it means I have to go back to Kirkwall again to finish settling things."

"Surely your clan will want to come back?"

"It is difficult to say. Remember-they think of themselves as Dalish, not Fereldens, for all that they spent most of their time here. We are a prideful folk, Alistair. Kind as your offer is, they may take affront at it. I will have to be very careful in how I broach it to Marethari."

"But this is really _your_ money, Lhaine. You're owed a lot more than this for what you did. Tell her that."

"I will put it to her that way. But if they've already got new halla coming, they may decide to wait for them and then come back overland through Orlais. Or they may decide that they want to remain one of the wandering tribes in perpetuity. Remember what I told you about that? I simply won't know until I get there." Alistair's Warden brother selected a second pastry. "But it will be good to see them and discover how they have fared regardless." The second pastry went the same way as the first. Lhaine dropped into one of the armchairs close to the fire. Alistair pulled the table holding the food over between it and the second one and seated himself there.

They ate and drank in companionable silence for a couple of minutes. Then Lhaine said, "I think I know why you had the nightmare. It is because I'm leaving later on today."

"That is probably it," Alistair agreed. "As long as you were here in Fereldan, I didn't really feel like you were gone. But this is different." He shuddered. "That was a _bad_ dream. There just wasn't anything I could do."

"I _will_ come back, Alistair."

"Not wanting to scare you or anything, Lhaine, but ships _wreck _sometimes. That's what killed my father, remember?"

"Ah. _There_ is the crux of the matter!"

Alistair nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think you may be right. There isn't anything I could do about your ship wrecking either."

Lhaine gave him an earnest look. "You can't protect me from everything, Alistair. I've fought darkspawn since the Blight was ended and I'll undoubtedly do it again in the future. I appreciate that you want to spare me pain, but you can't protect me from every random hazard life presents-short of imprisoning me in a tower, which I assure you I would not like."

"I know, I know! It's just that having come so close to losing you twice over, I cringe inside when I think about what might happen."

"We have to live our lives, Alistair," the Dalish Warden said with a shrug. "We can't live them in constant fear of death. You used to be able to put that aside, during a time when it was much more likely. You just need to re-learn the way of it."

"I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right." Lhaine steepled his fingers together and raised his eyebrows, giving Alistair a look of mock severity. "I am a Dalish, keeper of the lost wisdom of the ages."

"If by lost wisdom you mean pretentious bullshit…" The King of Ferelden suddenly found Lhaine Mahariel, levity brimming in his eyes, standing before him knee-to-knee and and bending over him nose-to-nose with no clear recollection of how that had happened. But before he could take advantage of the situation, or even think about doing so-

"I was thinking more of the ancient wisdom about _shemlen_ tickle spots," Lhaine said, before gleefully digging the fingers of both hands into those _exact _spots beneath Alistair's rib cage.

He knew perfectly well that Alistair Theirin was ticklish. What he'd forgotten was how _extremely_ ticklish the royal Warden was. Alistair yelped, jerking upward in the chair, knocking Lhaine backwards; then, with the quickness a year of continuous combat had given him, he attempted to catch the elf before he could fall. But their feet tangled together and Alistair tripped and fell forward with him instead. They both ended upon the rug before the hearth, Alistair having caught himself on one arm with a force that bruised his palm, the other arm curled protectively under Lhaine's head to keep it from hitting the hearth, his body looming over the elf's, knee between Lhaine's legs.

It only took a couple of seconds for startled surprise to turn into blind panic, for Lhaine to begin shoving at his shoulders. Alistair immediately moved to the side and the moment he was released, the Dalish rolled to his feet and fled into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Alistair got to his feet as well, but much more slowly and made his way to the sitting room window to stare unseeingly out into the night, rubbing his smarting palm against his breeches and his other hand through his hair.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but eventually there came the sound of the door opening again, and the whisper of Lhaine's bare feet padding across the floor.

"Alistair," his voice came softly from behind Alistair's back, "_Ab-_". The apology was cut off by the king's upraised hand.

"You don't need to apologize, Lhaine."

"I think that I do. I was the one who got in your face and then panicked. And you were only trying to keep me from falling. I know that. Would you please look at me?"

Alistair turned around to find his Warden brother standing very close indeed, his brows drawn down, his expression resolute. It was not unlike Lhaine's face the moment before he'd slammed Starfang into the Archdemon's skull.

"There _must_ be an end to this," he murmured, and going up on his toes, laced his arms about Alistair's neck and pressed his lips to the king's.

Templar discipline would only carry one so far. Alistair was hardly unmoved by the feel of that slender body pressed against his. But he could also feel the shiver running through Lhaine and that sufficed to cool any ardor he might have felt. So though he closed his arms gently about his lover, and answered the press of lips, he kept it gentle and undemanding. When the kiss was done, he dropped his brow to rest on the top of Lhaine's head, his hand making slow circles on the elf's upper back.

"I was feeling good, and I thought perhaps I could give you a good-bye present," Lhaine murmured disconsolately.

"I wondered about the tickling. It was the first time you've really offered to touch me like that in a very long time."

"I thought I was ready."

"You needn't rush things on my account, Lhaine. I've told you that."

"I know. But there have been times when I've wondered if you just shouldn't take me, if that wouldn't help me…break through, as it were."

Alistair lifted his head a little and shook it. "I don't think that being raped again helps people get over being raped! And in your current state of mind, that is exactly what it would be, even with me." He reached down and tipped Lhaine's chin up. "Now if you want to take _me_ and think you can do that without being frightened, then I'm up for that. Really, I'll do whatever you like if you think it will help."

Surprise flared in the forest-green eyes. "You would let _me_ take _you_?"

"Why not? Does it really matter who is doing what to whom, so long as we're together?"

"But you're a _shemlen_ and the _King_!"

"Neither of which has any bearing on what is between the two of us-aside from the fact that my duties as King require me to marry. Which I will be doing, and to an accommodating woman who will let us remain lovers. But that business about the fellow on top being the more manly one? Even if it were true (which it isn't), I trusted you to lead me all through the Blight, Lhaine. I've got no problem letting you take command in bed. I'm sorry if you didn't know that."

"_Ma'arlath_, Alistair Theirin," Lhaine said softly, his eyes glowing.

"Which means?"

"I love you."

"Likewise. Are you ready to go back to bed?"

Lhaine nodded. Alistair took him back to the bedroom hand-in-hand, turning to face him at the side of the huge canopied monstrosity. "Anything you want, Lhaine, or as little as you want. I meant it. It's sweet of you to want to give me something to remember you by, but trust me-I won't be forgetting you anytime soon!"

Smiling a little, the Dalish nodded once more, then gestured at Alistair's shirt. "Could you take that off?"

The King immediately obliged, tossing it to the foot of the bed. "Anything else?"

Lhaine shook his head, whereupon Alistair climbed in under the covers. "Come on up," he invited, extending a hand to the elf. The bed was a tall one and Lhaine allowed himself to be helped up. Once there, he immediately rolled to center as usual against Alistair, who draped an arm around him as had become their custom. Setting a hand in the center of that warm, broad chest, Lhaine's fingers toyed with the red-blond hairs there while he studied his Warden brother's face. Alistair's eyes were closed and he was smiling contentedly. He reached up and began tracing the planes of that beloved face, wondering how it would look with _vallaslin_ upon it.

_He would be Mythal's, no doubt about it. He is the protector of his people as She is of ours. _His fingertips lightly traced the design upon _shemlen_ skin and Alistair made a pleased sound.

"That's nice."

Encouraged, Lhaine leaned up and kissed him once more, tongue teasing at his lips, demanding entrance. Alistair immediately complied though he was otherwise perfectly passive. The arm that had been curled around Lhaine fell away, his hands kneading the sheets instead.

Tongues tangling, the kiss deepened. Lhaine waited for the panic, but it did not come. He was not restrained in any way and he was totally in control of the situation. Surrendering himself to the enjoyment of the moment, he ended the kiss to make a nibbling and kissing exploration of Alistair's neck and ear, which was greeted with a sucked-in breath. From there he traveled across Alistair's collarbone and down onto his chest. When he latched onto a nipple, the King jerked, though not as badly as he had done in the chair earlier, and groaned.

"Maker, Lhaine!" Moving across to the other nipple, he received a similar response. So he dedicated some time to alternating between them, nibbling and sucking till they were both pebbled and hard. Then he moved back up and nibbled on Alistair's other ear and the other side of his neck. This necessitated draping himself across the King's torso and again, he waited a moment to be sure the panic would not start before continuing. Alistair was warm beneath him, his bulk comforting rather than threatening. Grateful, Lhaine locked lips with his lover once more, running his fingers through hair the color of dark honey. This kiss was not gentle by any means; in fact it was quite demanding. But still the fear did not come. Lhaine moved lower once more, paying further attention to Alistair's nipples; then, sucking in a breath, he began to kiss and lick lower still, headed south under the covers towards the waistband of Alistair's breeches.

"Lhaine, you don't have to-"

"I want to, Alistair. It's all right," Lhaine assured the King, his voice muffled by the coverlet. Deftly, his fingers unbuttoned the breeches, then slid unerringly inward to grasp his lover's member, which was already hard. Alistair jumped once more, but was silent this time. The Dalish began stroking him gently and Alistair sighed in pleasure.

It was close beneath the covers, but not uncomfortable. Continuing the caresses for a couple of minutes, Lhaine steeled himself to go further. _Saltwell and his men never made me do this. Perhaps they feared my teeth!_ Knowing that it was a mistake to think of them, however obliquely, he banished that memory with a different, better one of the last time he had done this. With Tamlen, on a summer's day by a stream in the forest. They'd been bathing and it had devolved into a long, pleasurable afternoon...As if conjured by the memory, he seemed suddenly to hear his clanmate's lazy drawl echo in his head.

_Creators' blessings upon you, Lhaine._ _You freed me and I am at peace, **lethallin**. May you find yours as well!_ Figment of the imagination or not, it was comforting, and banished the last of his fear. Lhaine opened his mouth and took Alistair deep.

* * *

><p>Alistair had never felt anything like it. The hot,wet suction started tiny white stars behind his eyes and his body arched upwards. Lhaine's arm across his belly pushed him back down, then the elf began to do things with his lips and tongue that were beyond any of Alistair's rather limited imaginings. Morrigan certainly hadn't bothered to do <em>this<em>! His hips wanted to thrust, but were being restrained by the Dalish, whose head was bobbing up and down upon him beneath the covers. Alistair found himself longing to tangle hands in hair, to keep Lhaine in place so the delightful sensations would not stop. He forced himself to fist the sheets instead and groaned.

Then the mouth released him momentarily and the agile, pointed tongue swiped gently up the length of him, to circle the head and tease briefly at his slit before taking him deep again. Then the tongue circled him. Waves of pleasure began to wash over him. The delightful sequence was repeated several more times, until he knew he was about to crest. He tapped Lhaine's shoulder, managed to gasp out, "Lhaine..." in warning, but the elf disregarded him and continued suckling even more fiercely. Crying out, he no choice but to come in Lhaine's mouth. Seemingly unperturbed, his Warden brother swallowed and continued to suck throughout the process, until Alistair was spent and limp. The tongue continued to lave him for a few moments after that, cleaning him completely. The Lhaine wriggled back up from under the covers and laid his head upon Alistair's shoulder.

"How was that for a good-bye present?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Maker, do you need to ask? Incredible!" Alistair's fingers gently combed through wheaten hair. "I'm sorry I did that to you in your mouth," he said remorsefully. "I tried to warn you."

"Yes. I know. I wanted you to. I like that."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh. Would you like me to...reciprocate?"

"Do you think you could?"

"I'd be willing to try. I wouldn't be as good at it as you were, obviously. But I wouldn't bite."

Lhaine chuckled again. "That's the most important part, right there." He paused to consider his body for a moment. There was a slight degree of arousal there, but hardly anything overwhelming. It would leave him swiftly enough, allowing him to sleep. But he was feeling relaxed and comfortable at present. It might be a good time to try his boundaries a bit.

"Perhaps just use your hands for now? You'd be comfortable enough doing that, wouldn't you?"

"Sure. Take your shirt off?"

Lhaine sat up and did so, tossing it towards the foot of the bed. Lying back down, he was very aware of the skin-to-skin contact. Alistair was always very warm, a comfortable hearth-fire to snuggle up to on a cold night and that warmth was much more obvious when he had no shirt on.

"May I...touch the ears?" the King asked.

"I did tell you that was sex-play and we are having sex..."

"Oh. Right. Ears it is." Alistair promptly ran a careful finger along the top ridge of Lhaine's ear. The Dalish shivered and reflected upon the ridiculousness of biology. _'Knife-ear' indeed! It's a knife that cuts both ways! Here we are, the last scions of an ancient civilization, a supremely cultured one at that, and all you have to do is mess with our ears to turn us into quivering messes!_ And the King seemed determined to do just that, caressing both of them gently, before taking the tip of the closest one into his mouth and sucking. Lhaine did indeed quiver as the sensation shot straight down his body into his groin. Alistair's fingers started gently tracing the lines of Lhaine's _vallaslin_, but his mouth stayed busy with those ears, breathing into the whorls and sucking on the tips. In very short order, the Dalish found that his original mild interest had grown greatly. Rather like a forest fire kindled from a dying campfire...

"Alistair! _Emma lath_! Leave them for a bit, will you?" he had to beg at last. The King promptly did so, kissing and nibbling his way down Lhaine's neck in much the way Lhaine had done to him earlier. _A quick study, is Alistair Theirin, _the elf noted. Alistair's hands were wandering, tracing gentle paths all over his upper body, down his arms, across his chest, teasing his nipples delicately, exploring all the creases and dimples. They were incredibly tender, those hands, the carefully leashed strength saying all too clearly-_I won't hurt you._ _And I won't let anyone else hurt you like that ever again._

Lost in a warm and comfortable haze, Lhaine did not care when those hands drifted lower, across the planes of his belly. And he was still uncaring when Alistair fumbled the buttons of his breeches open. The one brief, bad moment came when Alistair's fingers first touched_ that_ place, which had not been touched thusly since that night in Drakon. But Lhaine turned his face into Alistair's neck, smelled the familiar fragrance of that sandalwood soap Zevran had gotten him addicted to and forced himself to relax.

His sudden tension had not gone unnoticed.

"Shall I stop?"

"No. Go on. I'm all right." That big, callused hand closed carefully about his member and began to stroke. And it was surprisingly skilled, varying pace and pressure expertly, occasionally rubbing the thumb over his tip, which was beginning to weep a little.

"You're good at this," Lhaine noted a bit breathlessly.

"Templar training, remember?" Alistair's voice rumbled beneath his ear. "All Templars are champion wankers. You heard it here first."

Lhaine had to laugh and then he had to gasp and then, Creators be thanked, he actually _came_ for the first time since Drakon! It was hard and it shook him, the release of tension so profound that his eyes grew damp afterward. Alistair felt that dampness against his skin.

"Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked worriedly.

"Oh no! No, you didn't hurt me. It's just...not so long ago, I thought it would be a long time before I could do that."

"Huh. Sovereign remedy, that's me. Get it? _Sovereign_ remedy?"

Lhaine slapped the punster's chest lightly in remonstrance. "Yes, I get it." The slap was followed by an apologetic caress and a kiss. "Thank you, Alistair."

"I told you it would get better. It's just going to take time."

"And you were right. I feel...hopeful for the first time in a long time." The elf yawned. "And tired. And _sticky_. We should get up and clean up."

By way of answer, Alistair pulled the coverlet up higher over the two of them. "I don't care about sticky. Sticky is fine. Get some sleep." His arm closed around Lhaine once more. The Dalish snuggled close and plummeted swiftly into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>The hopeful feeling the night had engendered lingered, even when Lhaine stood at the rail of the <em>Pride of Denerim<em> later that day, Zevran at his side, waving and watching the expanse of water between him and Alistair grow wider by the moment.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to Ygrain33, Ventisquear, JayColin and millelibri for your reviews for the last chapter. Sorry this one's been a while coming. I will give fair warning, though we don't make landfall until the next chapter-I'm going to mess with DAII continuity quite a bit.

* * *

><p>Zevran Arainai had a good set of sea-legs, as he'd discovered during the several journeys he'd made for the Crows. He had wondered how Lhaine, child of the forest that he was, would fare upon the sea and was a bit surprised to find that the answer was very well. The Warden did not suffer in the least from sea-sickness, and if he was not gaining any weight on the limited ship's fare, he wasn't loosing it either. He also seemed to sleep better on board ship than at any time since Zevran had met him. When queried upon the subject a couple of mornings out, Lhaine had looked toward the horizon and shrugged.<p>

"I can't hear the darkspawn here. I don't know whether they have tunnels beneath the water or not, but I can't hear them. It is such a relief!" His wheat-blond hair, down in the style he'd favored when among his people, tossed in the wind. "And it is so _different_ here than any place I've ever been. So much sun, and wind!" The spring wind was too chill by far for Zevran's taste, but Lhaine did not seem to mind. He'd not bothered with a cloak and was wearing only breeches and one of the shirt and tunic combinations that Leliana had had made for him. "I've not had dreams about…the other either since coming on board."

"Well that's good then, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"How were you and Alistair getting along?"

An amused smile teased the corners of Lhaine's lips. "That's certainly personal! We managed a _little_ something before I left, if you must know."

"That's good to hear. Details, please."

"It was better than I had expected and happened earlier than I had anticipated." Zevran found himself the subject of an arch green gaze. "And that is _all _the prurient information you will be getting out of me, _lethallin_."

The assassin sighed theatrically. "I agree out of the goodness of my heart to leave my little song-bird's nest and submit myself to extreme privation to accompany you to Kirkwall and you won't even tell me any dirty stories to pass the time? Tsssssk. It is a wonder I keep succumbing to the more generous impulses of my heart if they provide no more reward than this!"

"I have no doubt that you have sufficient dirty stories, not to mention memories, locked inside that head of yours to keep you amused for quite a while, Zevran Arainai," Lhaine said with a decided lack of sympathy, one golden eyebrow arched. "_My_ feeble efforts would add nothing new to them."

"Ah, but it is not so much the quality of the content as the act of sharing that counts!"

"Zev." One word only, but the flatness of tone told Zevran he'd jested enough. So he changed the subject.

"Since you seem to have taken to the ocean like a cat takes to employment in a dairy, do your ancient writings say anything about Dalish _sailors_?"

Lhaine looked about at the bustling activity of the ship and shook his head. "Nothing that I have ever heard of, and I was a close listener to Hahren Paivel. Perhaps Marethari or Merrill may have heard such tales. All of the stories I heard are of our life on the land. There was never a sea story, nor do any of the Creators seem to hold specific sway over the ocean. You would expect at least one of them to be the designated deity of propitiation by sailors, if we were ever a sea-faring folk." A shadow darkened his face. "And apparently our halla do not fare well upon the water." He made a visible effort to repress that shadow. "The _shemlen_ invaders came to us first upon ships, I believe. Perhaps if we had been sailors as well, we would have lasted longer. In any event, I wouldn't say it's something I'd care to do on a regular basis. But it is something interesting and new."

"I suspect you'd find it a deal more interesting if we were in heavy weather." They'd been blessed in that department, with fair weather and good wind so far.

Lhaine chuckled. "No doubt about that!" Then he wandered off to watch a sailor splice a rope.

Captain Aldwyn had been tasked with the escort duty for this journey as well, since he was acquainted with the nature of Lhaine's difficulty and Alistair did not want large numbers of people knowing it. He was a cool-headed and decisive commander and had hand-picked the dozen men accompanying them very carefully. The irony of humans feeling it an honor to escort and protect an elf was not lost upon either Lhaine or Zevran, but there it was. Every man in the escort was a seasoned veteran who had fought in the Battle of Denerim and each of them would have gladly laid down their lives for the Hero of Ferelden and the Blight Companion.

The captain of the _Pride of Denerim_, Captain Corus Maitland, had been recommended by Fergus Cousland as a man of discretion and reliability. Zevran understood that Maitland had been one of Bryce Cousland's trusted intermediaries in his Orlesian negotiations. He was an older man, perhaps getting close to retirement age judging by the silver in his hair, but he was still fit and energetic and ruled his crew with a firm hand.

Zevran did not know what the crew had been told besides the identities of their passengers, but for sailors they were exquisitely polite to both himself and Lhaine, and would happily answer any questions the Warden had about the operation of the ship. Lhaine had a lot of those, particularly about sailors' knots and rigging, though he tried to reserve his inquiries for times when the crew wasn't busy. There were apparently some similarities between ship rigging and what was done with the sails upon the aravels. The sailors in turn were very intrigued by the idea of the landships and asked Lhaine many questions in turn, some of which required the use of paper and charcoal for diagrams. It was amusing to see the scruffy ring of sailors surrounding the Dalish, pointing at his drawings and talking among themselves about the various features of the aravels. So long as Zevran was within eyesight, Lhaine seemed to be relaxed enough among the men. The Antivan hoped that it was a hopeful sign for the future.

Zevran had visited Kirkwall once before. He did not think that Lhaine would enjoy his stay there, what with all the visible reminders of the Tevinter Imperium's past glories, glories built at least in part upon the blood and bodies of the Dalish. So an enjoyable interlude before they made landfall was a welcome thing.

* * *

><p>Passage from Denerim to Kirkwall was an eight-day voyage, barring complications. And there were no complications until they were but a day out from the City of Chains. The lookout up in the crow's nest called "Sail ahoy!" Sometime later he elaborated "Ship closing fast, cap'n! And she's flying no flag!" The <em>Pride's<em> decks became a hive of activity.

"Crack on all sail!" Maitland called. Lhaine went up onto the stern castle and looked to the rear. The other vessel was easily enough seen by his keen eyes-smaller, rakish, obviously more swift that the larger _Pride_. Her deck looked to be crowded with men and he caught the twinkle of weapons among them.

"Raider," Maitland said, spyglass in hand, appearing at Lhaine's shoulder. "The Maker send them straight to the bottom! We won't outrun her. They've gotten big stones to hit us this close to Kirkwall."

"What will they do?" Lhaine asked. The captain's expression was grim.

"They'll try to take this ship, my lord, and kill or impress everyone on it."

Lhaine gave the captain a long look, then said calmly, "My men and I are at your disposal, captain. We'll armor up."

Corus Maitland laughed, and it was a short, ugly sound. "My thanks for that, Warden! Let's hope the Hero of Ferelden is too big a bite for them!"

* * *

><p>Preparations within the cabin were quiet for the most part. It was hardly the first time Zevran and Lhaine had helped each other arm and long practice made the sequence of pieces donned and straps buckled almost automatic.<p>

"It's times like these that I wish Morrigan were still here," Lhaine commented, giving Zevran's pauldron a gentle tug to seat it.

"_Almost_ I agree with you, my friend," Zevran said, twisting Lhaine's left elbow cop just a bit situate it better. "But since she is not…" The two rogues opened a chest they'd brought with them, opened a fabric roll of pockets containing small glass flasks. There were several different colors of the flasks and each type was divided equally between the two men.

"I've got some more fire stone, but there's no time…" Lhaine said regretfully.

"We shall have to make do. Why is it we always have more acid flasks than anything else?" Zevran said irritably, then gave Lhaine a look of urgency. "Listen my friend-I know you know how to swim. But this is the _ocean_, not a lake or river and even if dragonbone isn't as heavy as steel or silverite, it will still drag you down. Promise me you'll stay _on_ the ship?"

"I have no intention of going for a swim, Zevran. Promise you'll do the same?"

"That is a promise I will gladly make!" The assassin placed his hand upon Lhaine's shoulder. "Are you going to be all right with this?"

Quizzical green eyes met his. "What do you mean?"

"I know you've fought darkspawn since Denerim. But these are shems."

Lhaine's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Do you know, I never even considered that? Perhaps that is a good sign. I honestly don't know, Zevran. I suppose we will have to wait and see. Keep an eye on me, will you?"

"Always. It's such an aesthetic pleasure, after all."

A dragonbone-gauntleted hand made swift, sharp, sudden contact with Zevran's drakeskin-skirted rear. He yelped more in surprise than hurt. Only Lhaine could get a surprise blow like that in on him. Then he grinned, his amber eyes twinkling.

"Ummmmm. You always hurt me so good, my friend."

Lhaine chuckled, shook his head, then buckled his swords on and slung his quiver over his shoulder. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>In his many years on the ocean, Captain Maitland had fought raiders attempting to seize his ship twice. Both times he'd been successful, mostly because he prepared for the possibility and drilled for it. Every man in his crew possessed a crossbow and possessed a rudimentary knowledge of how to use it. As the raider vessel drew abreast of them, she was greeted by a barrage of bolts from those of the crew who could be spared from managing the sails. The helmsman steered the ship from behind a large wall shield, since he was often a target of opportunity.<p>

Captain Aldwyn's men also had crossbows and they added their own bolts to the barrage. The escort captain was a strict disciplinarian and kept his men in armor at all times, so they had not needed to prepare.

The Warden and his companion came out of their cabin armored, with bows in hand. He looked up at Maitland's helmsman, crouching behind the wall shield, then over at the enemy stern castle, raised his bow and drew. Unused to the pitching motion of the two ships, his first shot missed. But the second one took the raider helmsman in the chest. He fell and the ship veered away a little until another raider seized the wheel at the bottom, interposing it as a barrier between himself and the Warden's arrows. His Antivan companion was firing into the massed bodies at the rail of the other vessel.

Maitland, seeing that the two arrows the Warden had shot had been magical fire arrows, cupped his hands and bellowed down. "_No_ fire, Warden! Not yet, at least!" The Warden looked back up at him and nodded acknowledgement, then began shooting again with regular arrows. The raiders had a few archers among them and scattered arrows began skipping among the crew. One bounced off the Warden's armored chest. He did not deign to acknowledge it, continuing to draw and release as smoothly as if he were hunting deer in the forest. And perhaps he'd shot from a wind-tossed tree a time or two, for as time went on, his arrows were finding more targets. There were a significant number of raiders being dragged away from the rail, but the damage done was not sufficient to dissuade the raider captain, who, behind his crew could be heard haranguing them on.

"They must have quite the cargo, mates, to be putting up such a fight! Have at 'em!" The raider vessel was abreast of them now, and veered sharply so that the two ships collided. Both decks lurched beneath their crews' feet as contact was made and lines with grapnels began snaking out from the other ship, seeking to lash the two together. Aldwyn's soldiers began changing weapons to sword and shield, anticipating the rush over the rail, while Maitland bellowed at his crew to keep shooting.

The raider ship, while smaller, was not as heavily laden as the _Pride, _which was carrying a full cargo. So the deck of the attacking vessel was only marginally lower, not a great obstacle for the pirates. What _was _the obstacle was the shield wall that met their initial forward rush. Raiders against merchant sea-men was one thing. Unarmored, undisciplined raiders against armored, disciplined, elite troops was quite another.

The Warden, still on the stern castle, was now lobbing grenades onto the ship. Acid, cold, lightning and something Maitland suspected might be soul-rot coalesced over the packed bodies of the boarding party. The Warden's compatriot was doing the same from forward. Between the two of them, they were covering most of the crew of the raider vessel. Men started dropping in their tracks. The raider captain was now screeching imprecations in what sounded like Rivaini, for his men were losing appetite for the fight and were beginning to back off.

The Warden suddenly dashed down onto the deck. Drawing his swords, he vaulted over the conjoined rails onto the other ship.

Maitland could hear Aldwyn cursing, even over the din of battle.

"_Follow_ him, damn your eyes! The King will kill us if aught happens to the Warden while in our care!" The soldiers surged forward, over the rail. Some of Maitland's men started to follow; then paused, looking to their captain for direction.

"_Go on!" _the merchant captain bellowed, realizing that they actually stood a chance of _taking_ the raider ship, not just beating her off. Sailors began to pour over the rail.

On the main deck of the raider ship, Lhaine Mahariel was surrounded by foes, not that it mattered. The uncanny, glowing blue blade that had slain the Archdemon and his off-hand dragonbone sword were making short work of the raiders. Maitland saw the elf spin full circle, his two swords opening throats and gaining him space at the same time. The raider crew, unwilling as they might be to face those deadly blades, found themselves caught in a terrible quandary. The battle had been brought to them and they had no choice but to stand and fight. Piracy was a hanging offense on the Waking Sea.

And while Corus Maitland could have done without the raider attack, he had to admit that the opportunity to see the Hero of Ferelden in action was almost worth it. Mahariel was carving his way across the deck, leaving carnage in his wake. His elven companion Zevran was nowhere to be seen-until _he_ suddenly materialized out of thin air behind the raider captain, plunging sword and dagger into his back, then cutting his throat in almost the same, fluid motion. _He is a Crow, _Maitland recollected being told, _a Crow who walked away and lived to tell the tale. _The captain died without even seeing his killer and with his demise, the fight went out of the crew. Some threw down weapons and sued for mercy, but it was not granted. Captain Aldwyn had grown up in Denerim with sea-faring kin and apparently knew all too well about the punishment pirates merited. The crew was slain to the last man.

When the furor of battle died away, the Warden was left in a circle of slain foes. Maitland saw him look about with an almost puzzled expression for a moment, before he seemed to come back to himself, flicking the two swords in a practiced manner that cleared some of the gore from the blades. His companion approached him cautiously and they bent their heads close together conferring about something. Mahariel then lifted his, looked about, and seeing Maitland watching, waved to the merchant captain.

"What shall we do now, Captain?" he called.

"Check below decks, make sure none of them are hiding, Warden. I'll send people over to secure the ship." The Dalish nodded and then he and his escort headed down the hatchway.

* * *

><p>Ariston DeMarchais's family hailed originally from Orlais, as did several of Kirkwall's most noble houses. But he was a Marcher through and through, which was why he had protested so vociferously about being sent to spend a couple of years in Orlais to academy, to finish his education and put some polish on.<p>

_I hope you're happy now, Father, _he thought, though it was more with trenchant black humor than dislike. Ariston, whose mother had died birthing him, did in fact love his father Aristede very much. Aristede had never re-married after his wife's death and aside from Aristede's nurse Menara, the two had led a thoroughly bachelor existence. Ariston had to admit that his Orlais sojourn had given him some uncommon education in matters other than correct diction and advanced sums. He wasn't entirely sure his father would have approved of some of it, though Aristede did have a regular lady he visited at the Blooming Rose.

Now it looked as if DeMarchais Senior would not have a chance to approve or disapprove. Ariston, who had led a very sheltered existence, armored with his name and station against life's unpleasantries, had experienced first-hand what happened during a raider attack when his ship was accosted upon his journey home. The images of bloodshed and screams of the crew as they were cut down would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

The raiders had taken everything of value off of the ship before scuttling it, including Ariston, who had been very quick to inform them of his name and station. Growing up in the Marches he knew how the game was played. The raider captain, whose name was Ricoll, was very pleased to have him.

"We'll get twice as much as the rest of the cargo combined is worth for this one," he had declared, smiling expansively. "Put him in the slave-cage in the hold."

And there Ariston had spent the last two weeks, as the raider looked for one last vessel to hit, to fill his hold completely. He stank so badly that he almost hated himself and if there had been some way to step outside his body and go to the other end of the hold, he would have availed himself of it to avoid the stench. He had to relieve himself in a bucket, which was emptied whenever someone thought of it and has fed on weevil-ridden ship's biscuit and brackish fresh water twice a day. His complaints about conditions to Ricoll had been met with laughter.

"Oh, you won't die, pretty boy! I'll make sure of that! And if you look a bit haggard when your daddy gets you back, then all the better-that will make the rest of them that much quicker to pay if their precious sprouts get taken."

Ariston couldn't deny the rather brutal logic of that. He made no effort to complain again, and set himself to endure his captivity, fighting the boredom by going over lessons and sums in his mind, listening intently to what crumbs of information filtered down from above.

"Ship ahoy! And she looks like a fat one, lads!" should have caused horror in him, knowing the fate that awaited the poor merchantman, but what he primarily felt was relief. If this prize was large enough, then perhaps Ricoll would finally send word to Kirkwall to open the ransom negotiations and his torment would end.

It was odd, listening to the attack from below decks. He could see figures scurrying about around the hatchway and a couple of sailors came down to fetch some bundles of bolts and arrow up to the deck. As they closed with the ship, Ricoll's voice could be heard, calling encouragement. The collision of the two vessels knocked Ariston off of his feet. The raiders began screaming their battle cries, and the young nobleman assumed they were making their way onto the other ship. Then the tenor of those cries changed, became fearful. There were what sounded like repeated explosions and an odd ripple of cold air reached Ariston. He shivered. Ricoll was cursing, trying to chivvy the men forward from the sound of things.

Then came the impact of other feet landing on the deck. _Maker! _Ariston thought, hope beginning to blossom within him, _Is the biter being bit? _More feet followed and there was now no doubt-the raiders were being attacked themselves. Ariston could hear calls for mercy and was rather savagely pleased when they seemed to be disregarded. Silence fell upon the deck.

"What shall we do now, Captain?" he heard an oddly accented voice call from above. Whoever the voice was addressing made reply, but it was muffled by distance. Then Ariston heard footsteps descending down the stairs.

The person in the lead was short and slight-a woman perhaps, though she seemed very narrow-hipped. She was clad in what looked like some very expensive dragonbone armor and a winged helm with a nasal that shadowed her face. An elf, oddly enough armed and armored followed at her back, and then some heavily armored fighters. She was wielding two long swords, one of which glowed blue in the dim light. Her eye fell upon him.

"Spread out, search the hold," one of the fighters said, a man with a fancier tabard than the rest and the men came down and began doing just that, poking about and moving cargo to be certain there were no raiders hidden. The woman simply cocked her head and looked at Ariston. Then the voice with the strange accent he'd heard up above issued from her mouth and he realized that this must be a male elf as well.

"Who are you and why are you caged?"

Ariston lifted his chin. "My name, serah, is Ariston DeMarchais. I was returning from college in Orlais to my home in Kirkwall when my ship was taken by these raiders. They slew the crew to the last man and were holding me for ransom. They intended to take one more vessel before sending word to my father to open the negotiations."

"You're a nobleman, then?"

"Yes, of course! _Everyone_ in Kirkwall knows of the house of DeMarchais!"

"We're not from Kirkwall." Looking more closely at the soldiers, Ariston could see that they were wearing the royal arms of Ferelden. "Would you would like to be out of there?" the elf's tenor voice inquired, smooth as honey.

"Maker, _yes_!"

The elf pulled a clean cloth from his belt-pouch and commenced wiping his swords, which were caked with blood, as was his armor. As each one was cleaned, it was sheathed.

"Would you mind, Zev?" he asked politely, pulling off his gauntlets and offering them to his fellow elf, who took them without comment. He then rummaged in the belt pouch once more, pulling out a small leather wallet. Pulling something out from the wallet, he came over and began probing the lock of Ariston's cell, which gave way almost immediately.

"There you are," the elf said. "Are you injured, ser?"

"No, but I-" Ariston found himself speaking to empty air. The elf and his companion were already going back up the hatchway.

* * *

><p>When he made his own way out onto the deck, squinting against the sunlight which seemed so very bright after his time in near-darkness, Ariston found sailors busy tossing raider corpses over the side. The sailors were obviously from the large Fereldan merchanter the raider was lashed to. Other sailors were aloft in the rigging of both ships, shortening sail and bringing the vessels under control. The two elves were already back on board the other ship, passing out what looked to be healing draughts to injured sailors.<p>

One of the sailors approached with a smile. "We was told you weren't a raider, ser, and that we shouldn't kill you. Would you like to go across to our ship? I think the captain would like to have a word with you." When Ariston nodded, the man followed at his elbow. He had the effrontery to lay hands upon Ariston's person, giving him a leg up over the rail, but the young nobleman couldn't find it in him to object at the familiarity. Despite his efforts to keep himself fit by pacing the confines of his cage, he was nonetheless weaker than he'd been before his captivity.

There was an older man in a fine broadcloth coat standing mid-deck shouting orders to the men in the rigging. Ariston made his way slowly over and waited until the man was done to address him.

"Serah, you have my thanks for your timely rescue. I am Ariston DeMarchais."

The captain's graying eyebrow lifted. "DeMarchais, is it? I've met your father Aristede a couple of times socially in Kirkwall. Corus Maitland of the _Pride of Denerim_."

"Serah," Ariston said, inclining his head politely. Captain Maitland gave him a look-over.

"We're a day out from Kirkwall, messire. We should be putting in tomorrow afternoon or early evening, depending upon the wind. I think we can spare enough fresh water for a hot sponge bath, if nothing else. And my mate is close to your size. I'll see if he has some clean clothes he could lend you. You'll be bunking with me. A hammock, but it's only for the one night, so you should survive."

"I appreciate your consideration but do not wish to discommode you, serah. Have you no other cabin?"

Maitland shook his head. "The _Pride_ has only one passenger cabin, my lord, and it's booked by that gentleman over there," he said, indicating the elf in the dragonbone armor. Seeing the young lord's affronted look, his brows drew down and his voice grew chill. "And since this is a Fereldan ship, commissioned by the King of Ferelden to carry the Hero of Ferelden to Kirkwall, my crew and I will not be turning him out for you."

Stunned, Ariston looked in that direction once more, noting for the first time the conjoined silver Warden griffons upon the elf's armor. His helm was off, his blonde hair lifting in the breeze and the tracery of Dalish tattoos could be seen upon his face. Ariston remembered the glowing blue sword and gulped.

"That's…that's _really_…"

Seeing Ariston's astonishment, Captain Maitland's expression shifted from disapproval to wry amusement. "Yes, that's Lhaine Mahariel. Of all the ships on the Waking Sea that your raider captain could have picked to attack, he chose ours. You've been living quite the adventure, my lord. Captured by raiders and held for ransom, rescued by the Hero of Ferelden…you'll be dining out on this one for the rest of the season!"


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks to Ventisquear, Eva Galana, mille libri, gatorsnacks and Aritha for your lovely reviews for the last chapter. I am so happy that more people are finding this story and enjoying it!

* * *

><p>Ariston was never so grateful for anything in his life as to get that good-sized bucket of hot water and soap. He spent a considerable amount of time rendering himself as clean as possible, first sluicing the worst of the dirt off with salt water, then using the fresh and the soap to finish up. The mate's borrowed clothing fitted him well and the captain saw that he was given a meal as soon as his bath was done. His worldview improved enormously as a consequence.<p>

As evening fell, he ventured forth onto the deck again and thanked Captain Maitland once more for his succor. The captain shrugged. "No offense, Lord DeMarchais, but I did not know you were aboard and it would have sufficed to beat the raiders off as far as I was concerned. The Warden was the one who took the battle to them. You should tender your thanks to him."

As the Warden and his companion ate their dinner in their cabin, that was not possible until a little later on. When the sun was gone and stars beginning to appear in the twilight sky he emerged, clad in what had to be Dalish garments instead of armor, his two swords slung over his shoulders, strolling slowly towards the front of the ship, the other elf, also back in clothing, at his side. The two appeared to be chatting casually and Ariston did not think he was interrupting anything important.

"My lord Warden?" Lhaine Mahariel turned to face him and inclined his head politely.

"Lord DeMarchais. I trust you find these accommodations more satisfying than your previous ones?"

"Yes, praise the Maker! I just wanted to thank you for the rescue."

Up close, the Hero of Ferelden possessed in abundance that fine-boned beauty that made some people fancy elves over their own kind. His golden brows lifted the slightest bit. "There is no need for thanks, my lord, for there was little credit in it. It was not as if we'd been tasked to find you specifically. Your rescue was incidental to the defense of our own ship, and therefore unworthy of praise, though I do thank you for the thought."

"I would be only too happy to host you during your visit to Kirkwall, and I'm sure my father would agree that it was the least we could do."

The two elves exchanged glances. Mahariel gave Ariston a small smile. "That is very generous of you, my lord, but I have a dozen men, Captain Aldwyn and my friend Master Arainai here as escort. I am also going to Kirkwall on business, the sort of business that might very well necessitate my coming and going at all hours. I fear that I would be a difficult guest. It is also my intention to avoid official notice if that is possible. You must admit, it would be a bit hard to do that while staying in the home of one of Kirkwall's most prominent families."

The young lord was puzzled. "But…why would you _want_ to avoid notice? Surely you must know that Viscount Dumar would be happy to host and honor you!"

"Of that I have no doubt." The wheaten head inclined politely. "But I am Dalish and unused to the great cities of men. I find them…uncomfortable. Large human social events have always made me uneasy and since…the Archdemon that uneasiness has only worsened. I apologize if that disappoints or offends you."

Ariston looked into the beautiful green eyes, remembered the calm voice inquiring of him if he would like freedom. "Messire, it would be presumptuous of me in the extreme to be disappointed or offended by you, both because of what you have done for me personally and for Thedas as a whole. I will not press further, but I hope you understand that if you should find yourself in any difficulty while visiting Kirkwall or have need of anything, that you can call upon me and my father."

"I will be sure to keep that in mind," the Hero of Ferelden said. With another polite inclination of his head, he started to turn away, the conversation obviously over as far as he was concerned. To Ariston's horror, he heard his mouth blurt out the question he really wanted to know about..

"What was it like?"

His companion turned back to frown at Ariston for his presumption. The Warden's head tilted slightly, but he did not turn around.

"To slay the Archdemon?"

"Yes, messire. I apologize if I presume."

"No more so than the others who have asked. People always want to know. They are curious. It is understandable." He did turn back around then, his expression oddly serene. "It was a great torrent of light and sound, a roaring of rage. And there was great pain. Not pain of the body, I have experienced that," the Warden's hands turned over upon each other almost spasmodically for a moment, "But pain of the spirit, as if my very being were being shredded and dispersed. And it seemed to go on forever, though those who watched," here the Warden gave his friend a fond smile, "tell me that it did not go on so long as all that. At the very end, the noise changed, from roaring to singing. A most beautiful song. Indescribable."

"_Singing_? Why would it sing? Weren't you killing it?"

"Yes. But I was also freeing it of the Taint. What creature would not be jubilant at that prospect, even if death was required to bring it about?" His expression went bleak suddenly, and the other elf gave Ariston a warning look with his amber eyes that said he'd definitely outworn his welcome. But the Warden spoke again. "After that, there was a great explosion of light. I was lost in it and did not wake up for a week." A small smile curled his lips. "And there you have it, my lord."

Ariston bowed. "Thank you for indulging my curiosity, messire. I apologize for the intrusion. A good evening to you."

"And to you, my lord."

The two elves watched the young man head back to the sterncastle, perhaps to speak to the captain.

"Are you all right?" Zevran asked when he was out of earshot.

"I am not so delicate as all that, Zev. Fussbudget." Affection was palpable in Lhaine's voice.

"That was…interesting."

"Interesting? In what way?"

"You didn't notice? He addressed you as 'messire'."

"Why is that significant?"

"Permit me to give you a quick lesson in Kirkwall etiquette, my oblivious friend. You've obviously been spending too much time in Alistair's company of late. It's rubbing off." Lhaine snorted as Zevran continued. "Kirkwallers address people of their own station or lower as 'serah'. They address their social _superiors_ as 'messire'. A _shemlen_ _lord_ of the city just addressed your _elvhen_ self as his _superior_, Lhaine. My suggestion to you is that you go with what DeMarchais has established and address every single person in Kirkwall as 'serah'. The nobles, everyone. And that includes the Viscount."

"Should I have the opportunity to meet him. Which I hope to avoid."

"I know. But it might be good if you did."

"Good? In what way?"

"To establish beyond a doubt your social status. You're the Hero of Ferelden, Lhaine. I know you find that more of a burden than anything else, but I want you to consider something. You've already gotten the Dalish another homeland. In the thirty more or less you have left, you could change things for the _rest_ of the _elvhen_ as well. Or at least _start_ changing things." Zevran's amber eyes were glowing with fervor. "Garahel saved the world and died. The _shemlen _were able to drop him into a stone box, write a couple of songs about him and forget what they owed him. You saved the world and _lived_. You are not so easy to shunt aside."

Lhaine's eyebrow arched. "Do you not think so, Zev? _You_ of all people know that if I became too problematical, the _shemlen_ would find a way to make sure I'd end up in that stone box in Weisshaupt. Some tragic accident, of course."

"That is certainly true," Zevran said, his enthusiasm waning. "And it could be said that we have no right to trouble your peace further in any event, after all you've done."

But Lhaine was looking thoughtful. "The Creators do tell us that we are obliged to do what good we can in the world; that it is sinful to see a good act that lies within your measure and refuse to do it," he said slowly. His hand came to rest upon Zevran's shoulder and squeezed. "You are right to bring this to my attention, my friend. I will think upon what might be done. I know that Alistair intends to advance our peoples' status in Ferelden. Perhaps we should begin with that, let it spread to other places slowly. Thousands of years of oppression won't end in our lifetimes."

"But we might live long enough to see the _beginning _of the end."

"Creators will it so."

The two friends fell silent then, watching the last of the light fade away from the western horizon.

* * *

><p>Gemi watched the ships drifting slowly into and out of the docks and tried to ignore the rumbling of her stomach. Her mother was still abed after having just given birth to another sibling. If this one lived, she would have two brothers and a sister. She really wanted that sister, so she'd been shorting her own food to bring extra to her mother, so that her milk would be enough for the baby.<p>

Her father was working long hours in the Bone Pit, practically the only legitimate business that would hire Ferelden refugees. Kirkwall's underworld had some illegitimate use for them, if they were strong or quick or skilled enough. Hawke was the prime example of that. No one had messed with Athenril's smugglers and lived since the big mage had joined her a year ago.

But Kirkwall's underworld had no use for someone as young and slight as Gemi, unless it was as a burglar or pickpocket. Gemi was fond of her fingers and hands, thank you very much, and had no desire to pay the penalty for being caught thieving. She was too young for the flesh trade (save for the perverted types) and didn't want to do that either. Since her family was slightly more fortunate than most, with a wage-earner and a roof over their heads (even if it was only one room), Lirene would be of no help.

But one of Hawke's acquaintances was a dwarf by the name of Varric Tethras. He was an eccentric fellow, born of a good merchant family, who chose to make his home in a tavern in Lowtown instead of with his brother in Hightown. And he wrote stories. Books that people actually paid money to read. Had money to burn, it was said. And would pay coin for information, if the information was good enough and could be used as fodder for his fiction. Several boys Gemi knew watched for him and Gemi wanted to be in that inner circle.

So here she was on the docks. She'd been here for several fruitless hours, until the ship flying the Ferelden flag had come in. A merchantman, but because nothing else interesting was happening, she watched it for no other reason than because it was from her homeland.

Suddenly, there was a bustle on board the ship. A large party of men were coming down the gangplank. Gemi slipped through the bustling dockhands unnoticed. She had to get a closer look. This was promising, particularly when she realized that the person giving orders to the humans was an _elf_! And she couldn't see any of Tethras' other boys around, so it looked as if this was her own particular tidbit of news.

She took careful note of as many details as she could, knowing that that was what Tethras demanded of his watchers. He was particular, Tethras was. He wouldn't give coin for just any old news and if you bothered him too many times with stuff that was commonplace, he'd stop seeing you. But an elf bossing humans around? And walking abroad in Kirkwall armed and armored? Surely that was worth _something_!

* * *

><p>"Got another of your damned urchins for you, boss," the barmaid said with a sniff. She'd escorted Gemi upstairs with an affronted expression on her face. Gemi was affronted herself. She might be clad in rags, but they were reasonably clean rags and her family did actually make the effort to bathe on a regular basis. It was necessary, with her father coming home covered all over in stone dust.<p>

Varric Tethras was somewhere between ginger and blond. Unlike the majority of dwarves, he was beardless, though the chest hair peeking through the open front of his shirt almost made up for that. He was well-dressed and could be called handsome, Gemi thought, if you liked dwarves in that way. Certainly his expression was friendly enough.

"Who are you, lass, and what can I do for you?"

Gemi lifted her chin, ignoring the lightheadedness hunger was giving her. "My name is Gemina, Messire Tethras, and I have information to sell."

"Then tell me what you saw and we'll see if it's worth anything." Though the dwarf's tone was friendly as his face, the brown eyes were cool, judgmental. Gemi took a deep breath and began.

"Fereldan ship put in late this afternoon. I can't read, but I asked a dockhand which ship it was. He said it was the _Pride of Denerim, _a merchantman out of Denerim. An armed party of men got off the ship. There were twelve of them, with someone who looked to be a captain. They were all wearing tabards with the Ferelden arms on them, but they had a crown on them as well. They looked to be guarding three people. One of them looked like a seaman from the ship. He had black, curly hair and was pretty young. The other two were _elves_, messire, And one of them looked to be giving orders to the _men_!"

"That _is_ rather unusual. Why don't you tell me about these elves?"

Gemi looked about for a reference point, found it on a nearby bookshelf. "The one giving people orders was about this tall," and she raised her arm and laid a finger sideways upon the sidewall of the bookcase. "He had heavy blue armor on and two swords on his back. One of the swords…" she trailed off for a moment, frowning. "I'm not exactly sure, but I think one of them was _glowing_. The other elf was shorter," she indicated a spot a couple of inches lower on the bookcase, "and he was wearing leather armor and had a sword and dagger on his back. Both of them looked tan and both of them had blonde hair. I thought that they might be brothers. Both of them had tattoos on their faces too. The bossy one had them all over, but they were faint, like a darker brown or gold. The shorter one had black ones on one cheek. They were both carrying helmets. The bossy one had a helmet with wings, the other one had a leather helmet. Oh! One more thing. The bossy one had winged animals on the front of his chest piece. Back to back, in silver. I thought they might be eagles or griffons, but I couldn't get close enough to tell." She paused, panting a little from trying to get all the information out quickly, and looked at Tethras hopefully. "That's all I have, messire. Is it worth something?"

Varric Tethras looked at the little waif with covert approval. She was so scrawny it was difficult to tell her true age, which could have been anything from eight to twelve, though he was inclined towards the upper end of that range. Obviously hungry, she'd not begged for food before beginning her account, though he had soup and bread and beer at his seat. She'd shown initiative as well, asking a dockhand about the name of the ship when she was unable to discern that herself. And she'd done a good job of noticing details.

"Did you overhear anything the elf said to the men?"

"They were talking about going up to Hightown, and dropping the…" her face brightened. "Oh, that's right! They were dropping 'His Lordship' off up there! I don't know who 'His Lordship' was, though. Surely it wasn't one of the elves?"

"No, it couldn't have been one of them." Varric got up, broke off a piece of his bread and went around the table to hand it to her. "There, eat that. Your stomach is growling so fiercely that it's frightening me." A smile brightened Gemi's face into something almost pretty. She nodded thanks but did not wolf the bread down, taking small bites so as to acclimate herself to the food and make her stomach think it was full. Varric's respect for her grew. He moved into his bedroom, behind the curtain so that she could not see, and manipulated the secret wall panel of one of his many stashes. Retrieving the box, he closed the panel and came back out. The urchin's eyes were intent upon the box, but she said nothing, continuing to eat her bread slowly.

"I have a question for you, Gemina. What do you know about the Blight in Ferelden?"

She swallowed her food before answering. "Just that we had to leave our land because of it and that the Hero of Ferelden, who was an elvish Grey Warden, stopped it by killing the Archdemon…" Varric watched her eyes widen as she put the pieces together and passed his last test.

"Yes, there would be only one elf in Thedas who could walk around in Grey Warden armor with a glowing sword and boss Fereldan humans around, wouldn't there?" He opened the box and counted out half a sovereign in silver and copper before putting it in a little suede pouch and pushing it across the table towards the girl. Gemina took the money politely, though once she had it in her grasp, it vanished swiftly into some inner pocket in her rags. Half a sovereign would feed her and her family for a little while and she was obviously taking no chance of losing it.

"NORA!" Varric moved to the door and yelled down the stairs.

"What is it _now_, boss?" came the disgruntled reply.

"Some soup and bread and cider for my friend here, please. My tab." The sound of grumbling drifted up the stairs. He grinned and turned back to the girl, indicating the chair closest to his at the table.

"Sit, Gemina. Yes, the fact that the Hero of Ferelden has arrived in Kirkwall for some unknown purpose is of _great_ interest to me. Good job. And welcome to my Watchers."

* * *

><p>Ariston DeMarchais bid them good-bye at the door of his father's estate. "Please remember what I said, Warden. If you need anything, call upon the house of DeMarchais."<p>

"I will remember, my lord Ariston," Lhaine had said and watched as the young man slipped inside. When he was gone, the elf turned to his captain.

"Now that that's settled, captain, how do we go about finding a place to stay?" The afternoon was wearing on to evening.

"There are good inns here in Hightown, my lord. If we can't find lodgings tonight, we can always return to the _Pride _to sleep. We have enough coin to rent rooms for tonight and tomorrow we can go to the dwarven merchant's guild and pass them the bearer bonds to get more."

"Very well then. Let's see what we can do."

It took a couple of tries, but at the third inn, The Golden Lute, they were able to hire an entire suite of clean and nicely furnished rooms that would accommodate them all, with one door opening to the rest of the inn, easily guarded as Aldwyn preferred. He promptly set up a watch schedule for his men and they all ate in their rooms. The inn's servants were kept busy for a long time, carrying cans of hot water upstairs for fourteen baths; then, well-fed and clean, Lhaine's party all settled down for a most welcome rest on solid ground.

Lhaine and Zevran were sharing the best chamber. Having finally finished his bath, the Antivan dressed in loose pants and a shirt to sleep in. Toweling his hair, he joined his friend, who was seated by the open window, watching the passersby in the torch-lit streets below.

"So-what do you think of Kirkwall so far, my friend?"

"I don't care for it," came the prompt answer. "I don't much like cities in any event and there's something _wrong_ here, way down deep. Can't you feel it?"

"No. I don't have your superior Dalish senses."

Lhaine snorted. "Well, it doesn't take my superior Dalish senses to tell me that we're right down the street from a place like The Pearl." He gestured off down the street to the left. Zevran leaned out the window himself, to watch the door with the constant traffic.

"Ah, yes. The Blooming Rose. I've heard of it. It's said to be quite the place-all manner of decadence to be had." He gave Lhaine a hopeful look. The Dalish elf frowned.

"What about Leliana?"

"What about her? I will guarantee you, she's not sleeping alone in my absence. She had her eye on one of Eamon's younger knights. She was pretty certain he was a virgin. Leli does love breaking virgins in." At Lhaine's scandalized look, Zevran chuckled. "We promised each other bed-time stories on our return. We are not married to each other, Lhaine, not bonded as you Dalish do. We are friends and bed-mates. Sometimes we even invite others to be with us. The arrangement suits us both. Life is too short to be…constrained in such matters."

"Well…so long as it's what you both want…"

"I do so love it when you come over all parochial on me. It's precious, particularly since you're preparing to get yourself involved in a foursome."

"We'll see how precious I am tomorrow morning when we get some sparring in before breakfast."

"Oh, and the prospect of pain in the morning as well! Life could not get any better!" Since Zevran was obviously in one of his moods, Lhaine gave the discussion up as a lost cause and going to the bed, began pulling his boots in preparation for sleep.

"If you really want to go to the brothel, Zev, you can after we get back from Sundermount."

"Thank you, my friend."

"I do miss Dagger," Lhaine said in a mournful (and hopefully safer) change of subject, as he pulled the covers back.

"I'm not sure he misses you quite as much, given as the kennel-master had what, _five_ bitches he was wanting to mate him with in your absence?"

"I know. Alistair will undoubtedly spoil him while I'm gone. And I was worried about him getting sick on the ship, like the halla did. He's better off in Ferelden. But I still miss him."

"I could pant in your ear and drool on your chest and fart under the covers if it made you feel more at home," Zevran suggested with an absolutely straight face. Lhaine stared at him for a moment in disbelief, then began to laugh. He kept laughing for a long while, until he was wiping his eyes and shaking his head.

"Ah, Zev. My life would be much more boring and-What was it you called it? Parochial?- without you."

"That is me. The court jester." Zevran made his way to his side of the bed and slid in under the covers. "You should get some rest, my friend. We will get some supplies in the morning and buy a map and find out where this Sundermount is. Your Creators willing, you may very well be with your clan again by sundown tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

Many thanks to Ventisquear, Ygrain33, gatorsnacks, mille libri, JayColin and ohgodddd for your lovely reviews last chapter. Ohgodddd, it's pronounced "Lane". But the Dalish put a little huff in there at the beginning for the 'h'. Most humans don't bother.

* * *

><p>Lhaine and Zevran sparred the next morning in a corner of the courtyard. There were interested spectators, but they were kept at a distance by Aldwyn and a couple of his men. After a wash-up and some breakfast, the two elves and their escort headed out for the Dwarven Merchant's Guild quarter. There Lhaine and Zevran were surprised to see a couple of familiar faces.<p>

"Bodahn Feddic! Sandahl! How are you?" the elven Warden asked, a pleased smile on his face. Bodahn's seamed countenance lit up in return.

"My word! Warden Mahariel! It is a small world, isn't it? My boy and I came across the water to see if we'd have a bit of luck over here."

"Enchantment!" Sandahl caroled, pointing at Starfang.

"How is that working out for you?"

"Pretty well. I've got a bit of a job at present, working as a supplier for an expedition. But needless to say, your discount still stands if you need anything!"

"I will bear that in mind," Lhaine said politely, though in his experience, Bodahn's discount was non-existent compared to some of the other merchants he knew. The convenience factor of having a merchant right in his camp had definitely come at a price. "Tell me if you would be so kind-who among the Merchant Guild members is best to deal with? I've got a little business to conduct."

Bodahn stepped forward and gestured for Lhaine to bend his head down. When the Warden had done so, he muttered, "I'd go to Yehven for business, my lord. He doesn't pinch a coin quite as hard as some." He indicated a white-haired dwarf standing a little way off. The fellow I'm working for-Bartrand Tethras-is a pretty tight fellow and mean with it as well. You'd probably just get annoyed and kill him and then I'd be out of a job."

"I don't kill people quite as quickly as all that, Bodahn."

"Couldn't prove it by me, my lord! I know just how many dragons and such you did for when I was sharing your camp. Not to mention those darkspawn when we first met. Made me sleep easier of a night, I can tell you that!"

Lhaine chuckled. "Actually, I do have something I need. I'm looking for a map of the Kirkwall area. Do you have one?"

"That I do not, my lord," Bodahn said, shaking his head. "No maps at all at present. A pity, since Messire Tethras was wanting one of the Deep Roads. Those are hard to come by. But I know where you can get one of the surface." And he gave some concise directions to a shop in Hightown that sold charts and maps to ship captains.

"My thanks, Bodahn. And a good day to you, Sandahl."

"Good-bye," the dwarven savant said promptly.

"Good luck to you, Warden! I'm sure I don't want to know what you're up to. I hope you'll come again."

"We'll speak again, Bodahn, before I leave Kirkwall."

They took their leave and strolled towards the white-haired dwarf.

"Looking a little tired, our dwarven friend is," Zevran commented in an undertone. "I wonder if he did not have some trouble in Ferelden that he did not choose to impart to us."

"It's possible. Bodahn's always been a bit on the shady side. But useful with it."

"Ah, but we shady types are _always_ the most useful!"

"I've certainly found that to be the case." Lhaine's most pleasant game face went on as they made their approach to the dwarf. "Ah, Master Yehven, isn't it? My name is Lhaine Mahariel. I'm a Grey Warden, on business here in Kirkwall. I have some dwarven bearer bonds I need to put in safe keeping. I'd also like to cash a couple of the smaller ones for expenses."

The white-haired dwarf, who oddly enough had an elven woman as an assistant, looked up, his eyes wide. "Stone take me! You're the _Hero of Ferelden?_"

"I have that honor, yes."

He bowed and the elven woman dropped a curtsey. "Messire, it is a _privilege_! I never expected…well, enough of my blathering. By all means, let's see your bonds." Lhaine handed them over and Yehven looked through them, nodding his head. "All in order, all in order…and royal bonds at that! I don't know if you know, my lord, but the word came from King Bhelen a while back to all the surface dwarves that he would very much appreciate it if we were to show Warden Mahariel every consideration if we were to encounter him in his travels. And that was _before _you slew the Archdemon. So of course, I'm totally at your disposal."

"Bhelen's not _your_ king, is he?"

"Not in a manner of speaking, no. But he holds total control over the Orzammar trade, so we obviously don't want to anger him." Lhaine nodded. Yehven turned to his elven assistant. "Bring the book, please." When she had fetched the huge, hide-bound ledger, Yehven made a point of letting Lhaine see the lines where he had entered all of Lhaine's bonds. "A hundred sovereigns to start, my lord? I can do more than that, but it might be later today."

"A hundred would be fine." Yehven subtracted that amount from Lhaine's total. The elven woman opened a money box and counted out the appropriate coin into a pouch for Lhaine, handing it to him with a smile. Lhaine undid the side buckle of his cuirass and promptly tucked it away out of sight, tying the strings into his armor belt.

"Might I ask what you need all this money for? Not being nosy, just curious as to whether there is a way I can assist you."

"I have one ship with me. I might be needing to hire a couple of others." The dwarf nodded.

"Cargo ships?"

"Yes. Though they need to be able to carry passengers as well."

"All right then. I don't need to know any more than that. Let me know if you actually come to hiring them-I'll find some good captains for you."

"I would appreciate that, Master Yehven. When I next come to Orzammar, I will be certain to mention your name to the King and tell him how helpful you've been."

"You are too kind, messire." Lhaine and his party departed.

* * *

><p>As soon as the elf and his escort had left the Quarter, Bartrand Tethras materialized at Yehven's side.<p>

"What's going on, Yehven? Who was that? Gave you some bonds, by the look of it."

"That was the Hero of Ferelden, Tethras. You know what Bhelen wanted. I'm seeing to it."

"Why _you_?"

"I'm the one he came to. Nothing more. It's a lot of bonds, you'll get the particulars at the Guild meeting along with everyone else."

"If there's anything I can do…"

"Yes, yes, I know. Of all of us, you need to suck up to Bhelen the most."

* * *

><p>Lhaine found the cartographer's shop easily enough and was able to purchase a map, which he then took back to the inn. Once there, he, Zevran and Aldwyn pulled chairs around the dining table in the suite and examined it.<p>

"Looks like Sundermount's about seven miles out," Aldwyn commented. "We can leave today, if that's your wish, my lord. "After lunch. We _might_ be there by sundown if we march quickly. Depends upon how rough the terrain is. And I'd need a little time and coin to purchase supplies."

Lhaine knew Aldwyn fairly well by now and could hear the faint reservation in his voice. "What would you _prefer_ to do, Captain?"

"Honestly? Shop today and go early tomorrow. I'd like to be properly supplied-it will get cold on the mountain at night. And I'd like to know a little more about where we're going."

"That seems reasonable to me." At Aldwyn's look of surprise, Lhaine chuckled. "My kin have waited this long to see me again. One day more or less won't make any difference. I'd prefer to go prepared myself. Here, let's split this coin up between you, me and Zevran and then go hit the market in earnest."

The Hightown market was well-supplied with goods and fripperies from all over Thedas. Lhaine strolled along, looking at the stalls with interest. There was a far greater selection than even Denerim had boasted. Pausing at a well-stocked weapon shop, Lhaine took up a pair of matched _Dar'Misu _and actually considered them for a moment before putting them back. He was used to longer blades now. It had been a long time since he'd used double daggers. These did not have his clan's markings, so he was not feeling compelled to buy them. A handsome pair of daggers on the back of a nearby woman caught his eye and he studied those for a moment. The woman was wearing a white, tightly laced corset-tunic that barely covered what were some spectacular, flagrantly feminine assets, a blue bandana covering ink-black hair, a pair of boots that came up to mid-thigh and not much else from what Lhaine could see. Even with her back turned, a sense of familiarity nagged at him.

The stall was a hat stall and the merchant did not seem eager for her custom. "You've got no coin to spend, Rivaini whore, and we both know it! So stop fingering my wares!"

The woman promptly gave him back better than she had gotten, a torrent of curses in Rivaini, Common and a couple of other languages. Hearing her voice, Lhaine looked at Zevran, who was grinning. He grinned back. The two elves moved as one, flanking the woman.

"Now is that any way to speak to a lady?" Lhaine chided the merchant gently.

"Indeed! It is a wonder you get any business at all!" Zevran seconded from his side with a grin.

The Rivaini's head whipped from one of them to the other, her hands going to her knives; then she relaxed and laughed out loud.

"Zevran! And you too, sweet thing! Well met!"

"Well met indeed, Isabela," Zevran purred. "What are you doing here in Kirkwall?"

"Lost my ship in a storm, Zev. I'm sort of stranded here."

The Antivan shook his head in sympathy. "Is there no one I can kill to get you another?"

"Not unless you want to take Castillon on. And he's not here right now in any event." She tipped Zevran's chin up and kissed him, while the merchant watched in fulminating disapproval. "You always say the nicest things, Zev."

Her brown eyes turned to Lhaine. She moved to kiss him in turn and he suffered it, but turned his cheek to her rather than his lips. Eyebrows raised, she asked, "What about you, sweet thing? What brings you here?"

"Visiting family."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you were from the Free Marches."

"I'm Dalish. I'm not really _from_ anywhere."

"Well, wherever you are not from, could you stop cluttering the front of my stall?" the merchant grumbled. "The paying customers can't get in." Then he noticed Captain Aldwyn and the rest of the Fereldans, all with arms folded and all giving him disapproving frowns. "And who in the Maker's name are you lot?"

"Captain Aldwyn," Aldwyn said crisply. "Captain in the Fereldan Royal guard and head of the honor guard for the Hero of Ferelden, whom you just asked to clear off."

"The Hero of Ferelden!" the man spluttered, his eyes wide. Lhaine raised a hand and waggled his fingers gently, a beatific smile on his face.

"That would be me. And this is Zevran Arainai, Blight Companion. Isabela is an old friend of ours." He turned to the smuggler, who was smiling widely. "Isabela, I thought to buy you a hat, was there one that you fancied. But since I don't happen to believe that discourteous behavior should be rewarded, why don't you come back to the inn with us and let me buy you lunch instead?"

Isabela inclined her head ever-so-graciously, though her brown eyes were twinkling with mirth. "Thank you, Lhaine. I would enjoy that. We can catch up on old times." Lhaine offered her an arm, which she took. Turning back to the hatter, he said, "Connections are such an odd thing, don't you think? The people whom some people know never cease to amaze me. I reflect upon it often. Good day to you, Master Hatter."

They were well away from the stall before Isabela exploded into laughter. "Oh, that was rich! His face turned _purple_! I'd forgotten how cruel you could be with courtesy, Lhaine! It is a gift, I do declare!"

"I've never seen much point to being rude," Lhaine said with a graceful shrug. "People are more inclined to listen to you if you are polite, and that goes doubly for when what you have to say is unpalatable."

"And what if they continue to be rude in the face of your exquisite courtesy?" the smuggler asked.

"Then you may feel absolutely justified in pursuing less courteous options of communication."

"You may talk all you like about not coming from any place in particular, my friend," Zevran said, shaking his head, "but at times like these I have to wonder if there isn't a chevalier or two hiding in your woodlot."

"Those are fighting words, Zev."

"Ooooooh. You'll beat up on me again tomorrow morning? Do you _promise_? I look forward to it."

"You see what I have to put up with?" Lhaine asked Isabela, green eyes wide and blinking piteously at her. She laughed again.

"Oh, I've missed the two of you! How odd! This feels like homecoming and none of us are even from Kirkwall! Or Ferelden, for that matter!"

"Home is not a place, it is where your friends and family are," came Lhaine's portentous declaration. "We Dalish have always known this."

"Let's stuff the wise Dalish's mouth with some lunch, Isabela. He's too polite to pontificate while chewing and I always find him easier to take on a full stomach," Zevran suggested.

Aldwyn's pained sigh to the rear of them was easily discerned by elven ears.

* * *

><p>Catching up with Isabela was enjoyable. The smuggler captain knew how to tell a story and seemed very interested in her turn in what Zevran and Lhaine had been up to since last they met. They had just finished their meal when the innkeeper knocked at the door of the suite.<p>

"Messire, there is a boy with a package for you here," he said to Lhaine, whose brow creased in puzzlement.

"Unless it is something from Lord DeMarchais, I do not know of anyone else who knows I am here," he said. "But please, send the boy in."

A boy clad in reasonably nice clothes carried a cloth-wrapped package before him, which he presented to Lhaine with a bow. There was a note with the parcel., which he also gave to the Dalish.

"Bide a moment, lad, and I'll see that you have a coin for taking any answer back," Lhaine said.

"As you wish, messire," the boy chirped.

Lhaine unwrapped the package to reveal a broad-brimmed black hat with blue and white plumes and a black leather band with golden studs. Isabela's eyes lit up.

"That was the hat I was looking at!" Lhaine handed it to her and opened the note.

"It's an apology," he told the others. "The hatter says that he hopes the Hero's Lady will enjoy the hat and he thanks me for saving the world from the Archdemon." Zevran cocked an eyebrow, while Isabela put the hat on her head and tilted it rakishly over one eye.

"It suits you, my queen of the seas," the Antivan said approvingly. "Very piratical."

"That 'Hero's Lady' title is a bit of a rush. Beats 'Rivaini whore' all hollow," Isabela remarked. "I'm going to have to think about the courtesy thing. It seems there are advantages."

"I think that was more about me being the Hero of Ferelden than my courtesy," Lhaine noted. Looking at the delivery boy, he asked, "Have you had lunch, lad? It may take me a few minutes to pen a reply to this."

The boy's eyes were wide and he answered Lhaine's question with one of his own. "You _really_ are the Hero of Ferelden, messire?"

"I am."

"And is _that _the sword that killed the Archdemon?" He pointed to Starfang.

"It is." Lhaine forestalled further questions with an upraised hand. With his other hand, he took an apple from the bowl on the table and tossed it to the lad. "No more questions for now. I need to write this reply and writing is very hard for me because I didn't learn to read and write until I was a grown-up. Let that be a lesson for you. When I'm done, I'll let you touch the sword."

"_Really_?"

"Really."

The boy scrunched himself up in one of the chairs and waited, his eyes intent upon Lhaine, chewing his apple almost absently.

The Dalish went over to the well-stocked writing desk, seated himself, took up a quill and parchment and began to write, his brow furrowed. After the second Dalish imprecation in as many minutes, Zevran went to stand at his shoulder. At the third, the assassin laid his hand over Lhaine's, well aware of Isabela's curious eyes.

"This is a blotted _mess_!" Lhaine said in frustration.

"How often do you have cause to write things since you've been among the Dalish?" Zevran asked.

"Not at all, to be honest."

"It's muscle memory, my friend, just like fighting. You don't do it often enough is all," the assassin said calmly, though from the way Lhaine was holding one hand with the other he thought there might be more to it than that. "Here, you dictate to me and then sign it."

The two elves switched places and Zevran penned Lhaine's polite thank-you almost as swiftly as he spoke it. Then they switched places once more so that Lhaine could sign and sand the note. When it was sealed, he presented it to the boy along with a silver.

"Here you are, lad." The delivery boy, who had deposited the apple core on a plate, tucked it safely away in his shirt, then waited, expectant. Seeing his eager expression, the Dalish Warden smiled.

"I did promise, didn't I?" He drew Starfang and laid the blade across his armored forearm. The boy reached to touch.

"Hilt only, lad. You don't want to touch a fine blade with bare hands if you can help it."

The boy nodded and complied, his eyes wide as Starfang's blue tracery lit the room with a lyrium-like glow.

"Thank you, messire. I'll remember this always!" he breathed. Then he bowed to the three of them each in turn and scampered out the door.

"Awwww, that was rather cute," Isabela remarked when he had gone. She looked at the two elves. "I know you've got business to do while you're here, Lhaine, but if the two of you would like to meet up again sometime, I'm staying at a place called The Hanged Man in Lowtown. You can't miss the sign and if you do, most anyone can tell you how to get there. I'd love to see you both before you leave."

"I'll certainly try, Isabela. Zevran's schedule may be a little more open than mine," Lhaine said as he sheathed his sword.

"Not particularly," the Antivan said, "since Alistair made it plain to me that he'd hurt me and not in any way I'd enjoy, if I didn't keep an eye on you in the big city." He grinned at Lhaine's glare. "But some things you make time for and lovely sirens are certainly one of those things." He bowed over Isabela's hand, and she shook her head, chuckling.

"The two of you are quite the pair! I'll see you later!" She swept her new hat off her head and with a glorious, sweeping bow that gave both elves a good view of her spectacular cleavage, left them.

* * *

><p>Lhaine spent the rest of the afternoon with Aldwyn, outfitting the escort and Zevran and himself for a march up Sundermount and possible stay. Aldwyn insisted on packing a couple of tents along, with the poles to be cut on the mountain itself. "We don't know how long your business will take, my lord. We can send a party down to get more if we're up there for long, but this should serve to keep at least some of us dry should the weather turn nasty." It took trips to several merchants to accomplish Aldwyn's entire list and it was near dinner-time before they were done.<p>

"Why don't you go ahead and go to the Blooming Rose if you like, Zevran?" Lhaine suggested after they'd finished dinner. "Or perhaps go see Isabela again? I'm going to stay in tonight."

"I think I will do that," the assassin said with satisfaction. Aldwyn promptly told off four men to accompany him. "There is no need for that, my good captain. I'd have to be _seen _to be attacked."

"I thought you might prefer to walk down the street rather than skulking over rooftops," the captain said dryly. "Besides, my orders were very clear. No harm to _either _of you."

"His Majesty is getting absolutely masterful in his old age," Zevran said with a mock shiver. "I rather like it." Lhaine chuckled and Aldwyn just sighed, taking himself off to his room in the suite.

"Are you sure you will be all right here, Lhaine?"

"I'm sure. Go ahead and enjoy yourself. Just don't stay out too late-we're making an early start tomorrow, remember."

After Zevran had gone, Lhaine puttered about for a while; restless, but not really possessed of a desire to do anything in particular. He went to the window and watched the street below for a while, feeling oddly like some lady in a fairytale, mewed in a tower.

Then, remembering the debacle of earlier in the day, he went to the desk and spent some time copying the alphabet over a few times, until his hand began to cramp. After that, he checked his equipment, particularly his bow and arrows, making sure it was in good order. Then he tried to read for a while. Finally, he gave it up and took himself off to bed, where he lay tossing and turning for a long while.

His rest had not been good the night before, and he didn't expect it to be now. Along with the darkspawn, that sense of _wrongness_, of massive amounts of blood shed to no good purpose in this place, haunted him. He missed Alistair's cheerful manner, his warmth, the safety he felt in his Warden brother's bed. The time he'd spent with Alistair in Denerim had been so brief, yet had felt so right…He missed it with an intensity that was surprising.

_If Alistair were of the People, I would say we were well on the way to bonding. But I do not know if such is possible with a __**shemlen**__. What we have is different, unprecedented, but no less valid for being so. Ah, __**emma lath**__, I do miss you…_

He finally fell asleep, wishing that his pillow were Alistair's warm shoulder instead, that he could feel his lover's heart beating beneath his ear.

* * *

><p>Fenarel was frustated. He was past tired of this cursed place, with its corrupted Elder spirits, the occasional darkspawn, the other dangers that lurked upon the mountain's mist-shrouded shoulders. But the clan was hardly in a position to go elsewhere until a new halla herd could be brought to them. And he wondered if Keeper Marethari would go even then. <em>Asha'bellanar <em>had apparently laid a charge on her and none of the People would knowingly cross _Asha'bellanar_.

To make matters even better, a bunch of _shemlen_ mercenaries had set up camp right by the entrance to their own encampment. A few well-placed arrows had killed any interest the mercs might have had in messing with them, but tensions were currently running high in the camp and anyone who wished to leave had to go out the other entrance.

The mercenaries' ultimate purpose was unclear to Fenarel-whether they were waiting for orders from some higher authority in their organization or just taking a rest. He worried that they would eventually storm the camp in order to prey upon the women, since they had none here upon the mountain. In the meantime, they weren't above preying upon any travelers that came up the path. Fenarel and the others had observed them attacking people for a couple of weeks now. Needless to say, the Dalish had not interfered. The more _shemlen_ killed each other, the better it was for the People.

And now, as the sun reached its zenith, they were at it again. He and Ineria watched as the mercenaries boiled out of their camp to attack yet another party of travelers. Before, such conflicts had always been relatively brief. This time, it became apparent that things were going differently.

These newcomers were well-armed, better armed than the mercenaries, in fact. And very disciplined. They dropped packs and waded into the battle as a cohesive unit. Ineria promptly whistled more of the hunters over-both to watch and to be on guard, lest this new group prove to be of some danger to the camp. There was an flat-ear elf with the newcomers, bouncing about the perimeter of the battle, dodging into and out of stealth as rogues did, cutting a throat here, throwing a grenade there. Probably their scout or guide.

Outnumbered by a factor of two to one, the newcomers seemed undismayed. There was a smaller figure among them, in dark blue armor and a winged helm, who appeared to be the commander. His blades were cutting a swathe through the heart of the opposition and no one could stand before him. He was fighting with two long swords, something Fenarel had only seen once before, during the _Arlathvhen. _He was elf-sized, but Fenarel could not imagine a flat-ear going about armed in full plate with such impressive weaponry and such a set of skills. It was a bit of a puzzle.

The combat did not actually take very long. The mercenaries lasted but a few minutes before they were all slain. Bodies littered the ground and the smell of blood and bowel hung heavy in the air. Ineria had long since called up every hunter the clan had and a bristle of bows and arrows blocked the entrance to the Dalish camp. Fenarel hoped that the victors had no interest in the Dalish-he was not sure the Sabrae clan hunters could defend against such puissant fighters. A shooting retreat definitely seemed to be their best option at this point, but that would mean leaving the aravels and everything they owned behind.

"Halt, _shemlen_! You trespass on lands the Dalish currently occupy!" he called with more assurance in his voice than he actually felt as the victors looked up from their battle and noticed the Dalish hunters. "If you come any closer, you will feel our arrows!"

The commander wiped his swords on a dead man's cloak and sheathed them. Then he stepped forward, empty-handed.

"Fenarel, Ineria, Harethlan! Is that any way to greet a _clansman_?" came a mellifluous, _Dalish_ voice. He stripped off his helm, and Fenarel gasped.

"_Lhaine_? Lhaine Mahariel? _Lethallin_!" He found himself running forward in the company of his fellow hunters, the news buzzing back away behind them into the camp.

And the formidable warrior was indeed Lhaine, looking a bit older, worn and thin, but smiling. He came into Fenarel's arms with a laugh and was soon surrounded, being passed from one set of arms to another, giving greeting to everyone, while the _shemlen_ with him stood by like obedient dogs.

* * *

><p>Watching the reunion, Zevran could not decide if he wished Alistair could see Lhaine like this or not. Surely the joy on his face would have been something Alistair would have appreciated. Zevran could not recollect the last time he'd seen Lhaine with such a carefree, unguarded expression. But the spate of Dalish filling the air, Lhaine himself launching into his native tongue like an eager swimmer on a hot day diving into a cool stream-the assassin feared such would only remind the king of the vast gulf of cultural differences that lay between himself and his lover. And though Lhaine had been touch-shy even among the other Dalish at Halamshiral, right now he was apparently having no problem at all being embraced by any number of people. Zevran could see Alistair deducing from this that the best place Lhaine could be was with his own . No, perhaps it was best he wasn't here…<p>

Eventually Lhaine detached himself from his clansmen and came back over to Captain Aldwyn.

"It would seem that the mercenaries had a fairly decent camp set up, Captain. Do you think you can make use of it?"

"We'll give it a look-over. The tents seem good at the very least," Aldwyn replied. Frowning a little, he asked, "What do you want to do about the bodies, my lord? I suppose we could tip them into a ravine…"

"Strip them of arms, armor and valuables. We'll leave them their clothes. Let's put them closer to the head of the trail for now, away from the camps."

"We didn't bring any axes but ones small enough for fire wood, my lord. A pyre for this many men is going to take a lot of timber."

"It may not be necessary. Let me talk to the Keeper and the First. They may be able to help with that. If not then perhaps my clan will help us dispose of them."

Aldwyn nodded. "I suppose you're sleeping inside the Dalish camp tonight?"

"Yes, captain. I'll be perfectly safe there-Zevran will be coming with me. And I'm sorry, but they won't let you in."

"I gathered that. Rather touchy-like the ones in Halamshiral."

Lhaine gave him a raised eyebrow. "Think upon this, Captain. How would you feel if you once roamed all of Thedas, only to be robbed of it and enslaved by elves? If your civilization had been destroyed not once, but _twice _by them? Don't you think you'd be rather possessive of the little bits of ground you could claim, even temporarily? Do you think you'd want elves on those bits of ground as well, when they'd taken everything else?"

The Fereldan captain sighed. "I don't suppose I would at that. But it would be nice if we could grow past that."

"You're a reasonable person, captain, or you wouldn't be here with me. A lot of humans aren't. I hope we can grow past that as well. But I killed my first human when I'd just turned seventeen. He was a trapper trying to make off with one of our women to cook and clean for him and do-well I'm sure you can imagine. And that was hardly the last time I had to defend my clan against humans. It tends to give one a bit of a…bitter perspective?"

"I can see where it would, my lord. Given the circumstances, I'm rather amazed you joined the Grey Wardens and strove so hard so save us."

Lhaine smiled wryly. "The darkspawn are no respecters of persons, captain. I was not enthused about the idea at first, to be honest. But my Keeper pointed out to me that the Blight would harm my people as well. And I have met some humans of good will in my travels. So I am better inclined towards humans than I once was. That may be the only way that things ever change-one human or elf at a time."

"It's a bit beyond me, my lord. But I'll get started on this. I know you want to go meet with your…Keeper, did you say?"

"That's correct. Thank you, Captain. Let the sentries know if you need me for anything and I will come right out."

* * *

><p>Zevran at his side, Lhaine stepped through the gap in the rocks that was the entrance to the camp and paused for a moment to take a deep breath of the familiar camp aromas-wood fires, camp cooking, the occasional drift of herbal scent as potions and salves were made. Mountain or forest or heath, the terrain was always different, but the aravels stayed the same. He knew each one by heart, the designs, the wear and damage their travels had given them. If he had a home on Thedas, it was wherever this collection of aravels gathered.<p>

Calls of greeting rose around him and more of the clan, those who were not hunters, came forward to make him welcome. He found himself clasping hands, speaking names he'd not had cause to use in over a year, smiling so much his face actually began to hurt.

And then the crowd parted and Keeper Marethari paced forward, her expression as serene as ever. Merrill was at her back and she handed her staff to the First as she stopped before Lhaine and cupped his face between her hands. Her eyes met his and held them for a long moment.

Lhaine felt that those eyes bored deep into him, sensed the presence of the Taint and the darkness that Drakon had left in him. Everyone fell silent as they watched.

At last she spoke. "Welcome, _da'len_-no, not _da'len_. You will not be a _da'len _ever again, will you?"

"No, Keeper, I will not." Lhaine's voice was soft.

"You come back to us after dangers and deeds we can scarcely imagine, _lethallin_, and you have won renown among the _shemlen_ that will never be forgotten. Have you come back to stay, then?"

"No, Keeper. I promised the king that I would return to Ferelden. I came to see how you all fared and to offer the clan a way back to Ferelden and Halamshiral, should they wish it."

"That is something we shall discuss later." Marethari smiled. "For now, we must celebrate your homecoming, Lhaine Mahariel. Perhaps among us you can find the peace that lives within once more."


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks to ShebasDawn, Bloodsong 13T, mille libri, ventisquear and Aritha for your interest in a story that is updated much too seldom.

Just for the record, one of the things I hate _most_ about DAII is the conclusion of Merrill's story arc. Isn't it wonderful that you can fix things in fanfic? Consider this the first part of my meddling with DAII continuity.

* * *

><p>Keeper Marethari was old, and did not need much sleep any more. It was a rare night when she got more than three or four hours. So in the small hours of the night, when the party to welcome Clan Sabrae's legendary prodigal son had died down and all save the sentries had gone to bed, she was still awake, pacing through the camp between the banked campfires, watching the moon and the stars take their courses across the sky.<p>

The Mahariel aravel was currently being used by a newly married couple. They'd offered to give it up in favor of the Hero, but Lhaine had refused, and had bedded down with Master Ilen for the night. His friend was in Variel's aravel, getting a first-hand introduction to Dalish culture, most particularly sexual practices.

The _shemlen _who had accompanied Lhaine were quiet in their own camp. It was such a strange thing to contemplate, that a _shemlen _king had told off a dozen of his own to guard a _Dalish_! And that they not only complied without complaint, but considered it an honor! All sorts of strange things were afoot in the world these days. Certainly _Asha'bellanar_ seemed to think so, and that was cause for worry indeed.

And Lhaine himself had changed, had changed from a promising young hunter who had deferred to his elders with grace, to someone of great self-possession, who commanded effortlessly and to whom respect was given without question. He had grown, but he had also diminished in other ways. There was obviously something haunting him.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Marethari saw the door to Ilen's aravel open, and Lhaine slip out. He was barefoot, his hair loose, in shirt and breeches with a cloak thrown over all. Moving to the nearest campfire, he tossed a couple of pieces of wood on, seated himself upon the log closest to the embers, bent his back and rubbed his bare shins with his hands, his face troubled. Marethari moved quietly over to him.

"Are you well, Lhaine? Did you take some injury in the fight? You should have told me."

He moved to get up, was stopped by her gesture, then nodded respectfully. "Keeper. No, I wasn't injured. These are old wounds."

Marethari turned her inner sight upon him then, and gasped. The healed damage to his legs and hands and body was visible to her, as well as a hint of the Taint that she'd tried so hard to eliminate before Duncan took him away.

"You are _still_ Tainted! Duncan said that becoming a Grey Warden would heal you, save you!"

The corner of Lhaine's mouth curled up wryly. "It did, in a sense of the word. It bought me time. Wardens take the Taint into themselves when they Join. They live about thirty years after that, before it begins to overtake them and turn them into ghouls. People who have been Tainted before they Join get the same span of life. _Shemlen _Wardens traditionally go down into Orzammar to fight the darkspawn until they are killed when that happens, but I don't want to die in the dark."

He looked up at her, his expression bleak. "The Keepers at Halamshiral know this already, but you should too and I would appreciate it if you would pass it to any Keepers you meet. When the time comes, I'll come back to my people to be ended. My body needs to be burned, not buried whole. You can bury the ashes later."

"Oh, Lhaine, what have I done to you!"

He shrugged. "What needed to be done, for the good of the clan. We don't waste anything. It is better that I lived to fight against the Blight, than that I had died then as I wished to."

"You have taken so many injuries!"

"There was a lot of fighting to be done. And at one point, Alistair and I were taken to Fort Drakon. I was put to the question."

"You were…what exactly does that mean?"

Lhaine drew in a deep, careful breath. "It means that I was tortured, for information."

Shock and anger flooded into Marethari, so much so that she actually had to take a moment to calm and collect herself. "And this Alistair?" she asked eventually. "Was _he_ tortured as well?"

"No, though they made him listen while it happened. We were good friends and he was the last son of the King, after all. I think that Loghain wanted to hurt him emotionally, break him, so that he would be a malleable puppet. Loghain was probably hoping to marry him to his daughter."

"How did you escape?"

"Our friends came in after us and broke us out. And healed me, though it was a near thing." Again, that wry smile. "_Shemlen_ mending what _shemlen _marred. It was…symmetrical, if nothing else. And enabled me to fight the Archdemon, in the end." He moved his feet even closer to the fire, huddled into the cloak and sighed.

"You've got darkspawn here, somewhere on the mountain. I can feel them. It's why I couldn't sleep."

"You can feel them?"

"Yes. Grey Wardens can. It helps us find them to hunt them. And I probably _should _hunt them, if I'm going to stay here any length of time. Because they can feel me too. And they might come after me into the camp. If you're willing to lend me some hunters for the cause, I'll see if my guard is up for hunting them too, and we'll get rid of them. My guard have all faced darkspawn before."

"Your guard would be willing to fight to defend the _Dalish_?"

"If _I_ tell them to. I saved Ferelden for _them_, it only seems fair."

Yes, Lhaine had definitely changed. This cool cynicism was new to Marethari.

"I will find some hunters for you in the morning."

"Thank you. I'd like to borrow Merrill if I might, as well. She's pretty good in a fight. I'll look after her."

"I do not know if that would be such a good idea, _hahren_. The hunters might not wish to fight with Merrill at their side."

Marethari suddenly found herself the subject of penetrating green gaze that even she found difficult to withstand.

"Yes. I meant to ask about that, Keeper. I'd noticed that everyone seems very displeased with Merrill. What has she done?"

* * *

><p>Zevran awoke to the sound of shouting. <em>Lhaine's <em>voice shouting, he realized after a moment. Rolling out of bed, he reached for his clothes, Variel stirring behind him.

"What is going on? Is that the_ Mahariel_?"

"It is. Let me go see what is going on."

Unlike Lhaine, he'd not been living in Ostagar all winter, so despite his worry, he took the time to pull his boots on, as well as all of his layers. Variel was getting dressed as well. They both finished at the same time and hastened out of her aravel to find the camp in an uproar, with _elvhen_ pouring out of their aravels, grabbing up weapons as they went.

Close by the central campfire, which was now blazing brightly again, Lhaine was standing nose-to-nose with the slender, dark-haired _elvhen_ girl Zevran had seen earlier with the Keeper. She was in her night-clothes and he was snarling at her as Zevran had never seen him do to anyone before. "Are you _mad_, Merrill? Where is it? What have you done with it? _Bring me the mirror NOW!_"

_The mirror?_ _Surely not __**the mirror**_? Zevran had heard the tale of Tamlen and Lhaine's corruption. _The girl could not have been that foolish, could she?_

But Variel confirmed Zevran's fears. "It's about time!" she said with satisfaction. "The First has been mucking about with a piece of the mirror that spread the corruption in the Brecilian Forest. Marethari couldn't convince her to stop. She's been dealing with demons as well, doing blood magic. The Mahariel will sort her out. They were friends once."

Lhaine did not look particularly friendly now. In fact, Zevran had never seen him so enraged, and that was worrying, for he was not sure that this was entirely about Merrill. It might very well be that, on what was a close to home turf as he got, Lhaine was finally feeling safe enough to vent some of that anger that had built up in him because of Drakon. Judging from the eager, anticipatory looks directed towards the Warden and Merrill, the little First's actions had made her very unpopular, and Zevran doubted that any of the clan would question anything Lhaine might do to the girl, up to and including killing her.

Confronted with the disgust and anger of one who had been one of her closest friends, Merrill was weeping. The Keeper, damn her eyes, looked disinclined to interfere**. **_**Basta**__, it's up to me!_

Cautiously, Zevran approached, his hands held open and low.

"Lhaine? _Mio amico_, what do you do here?"

Lhaine's head snapped around, his eyes green flame, his pale hair lifting from his shoulders in the chilly, moist night air. He looked the very personification of that _elvhen _god of vengeance of his. _What __**is**__ his name? Algernon?_

For just a moment, Zevran thought that Lhaine might actually strike him for interfering. Then the Dalish's gaze connected with his. Thankfully, some of the rage cooled and awareness returned. Lhaine took a deep breath and made a visible effort to relax. His left hand made the Crow signal for _I'm all right_. Zevran relaxed a little and let out a breath of his own.

"Merrill has endangered the clan by keeping a part of the mirror that Tainted Tamlen and myself," Lhaine said, his voice roughened from the shouting. "As a Grey Warden, it's my duty to deal with matters pertaining to the Taint. I have demanded that she give the shard to me."

"But it's _not_ Tainted any more!" the First protested, sniffling. With a decided lack of anything resembling a sense of self-preservation, she added, "the demon gave me the ritual to purify it and it _worked_!" Angry mutters rose from the elves standing around them.

"Which demon was this?" Lhaine inquired, his voice gone from fire to ice.

"The…the old one that is imprisoned on Sundermount." She lifted her huge green eyes to Lhaine, and hope blossomed suddenly in them. "You're a Warden! Of all people, _you_ can see that it's safe! I'll go get it!" Scrambling away, Merrill ran towards the Keeper's aravel.

Harshal, who was on duty at the entrance to the camp, came up then.

"Lhaine, that _shemlen _captain of yours is out here, wanting to know if you are well. He heard the shouting."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Harshal. Tell him I'm fine. It's just a clan dispute."

The hunter shook his head. "He insists on seeing _you, _in person. You'd best come before he tries to fight his way in here."

Lhaine nodded, and he and Zevran followed the hunter to the entrance. Aldwyn and four of his men were there, fully armed and armored.

"Are you well, sir? We heard shouting."

"I apologize for that, captain. I was having a…difference of opinion with an old friend. A family quarrel, if you will."

Aldwyn took in Lhaine's disheveled appearance, and frowned. "Are you certain, sir?"

"I'm certain. It's just words, not blows. Thank you for your care of me."

"It's hardly _care_ when we're out here and you're in there," Aldwyn grumbled. "But as you wish, Warden. A good night to you. Or good morning, as the case may be."

"And to you as well, Captain." Lhaine inclined his head politely and went back inside to the campfire.

* * *

><p>As he was returning, Merrill was coming back, the elves drawing back in disgust to allow her passage as if she herself were corrupted. She was carrying a piece of glass cupped carefully in her hands. It seemed to glow.<p>

Zevran saw Lhaine's face pale, even in the red firelight. The Warden swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring. Then he said in his customary quiet tone, "give it to me, Merrill."

The First handed the glass to him. Zevran could only imagine what it cost Lhaine to take it, this remnant of the thing that had ripped him away from all he loved and set him on the path to becoming the Hero. The Warden turned it over in his hands for a moment, his face intent. Then he looked up. "No, there is no sign of Taint."

Astonished muttering broke out around him. Merrill chirped, "See? I told you it was safe!"

The muttering turned angry. Lhaine held up his hand for silence.

"That doesn't mean it's _safe_, Merrill." He sighed, looking incredibly weary of a sudden. "The last thing that Tamlen said to me before the mirror took him was, 'I see an underground city!' What do you think the mirrors did?"

"The _eluvians_ were supposed to communicate with one another. You were supposed to be able to see the other cities where they were, talk to people there. The Elders may have even been able to travel through the mirrors."

"'Travel through the mirrors', you say. You don't think that _might_ be something of interest to an ancient demon looking to find its way out of its ages-old prison? Demons don't _ever_ help anyone unless there is something in it for themselves."

Merrill frowned. "I am a mage, Lhaine. I think I know more of spirits than you do."

"I wouldn't make a sizeable wager on that were I you, Merrill. I've _killed_ more demons and abominations in the last year than most mages ever meet in their lives. I spent more time in the Beyond than Circle mages do when they're being Harrowed. I fought my way through Ferelden's Circle when it was being held by demons and abominations and I met them elsewhere, in the Deep Roads, in Denerim, all sorts of places. I've killed every kind of demon there is. And I've seen the sorts of bargains they make and what happens to the people who make them. It isn't pretty."

The certainty with which he spoke caused doubt to settle over the First's face. "I do know that you have to be careful, Lhaine. It's not safe to trust."

"Trusting or not, _any_ bargain opens the door to possession, Merrill." There was angry agreement from the crowd. His voice, which had been calm and level, gentled even further. "Why did you want to rebuild the mirror in the first place?"

"_To find Tamlen!_ There was never any sign of him! I thought he might have been taken into the mirror, and if I could re-build it, we could get him back!"

"Tamlen is dead."

"You don't _know_ that!"

"Actually, I do." Lhaine's expression grew bleak. Zevran knew that Tamlen had been a former lover of Lhaine's and what his fate had been. The Antivan wanted to shake the obtuse little First for making Lhaine recount what had happened. "One night while my companions and I were camping, our camp was attacked by shrieks. There was a ghoul with them, an elf. To my amazement, it addressed me as _lethallin_, said that it was Tamlen. He begged me to kill him before he hurt me or anyone else, so I did." Murmurs of shock and dismay rose from Lhaine's clan-mates. "Killed him and burned him. I buried the ashes beneath a sapling and said the words for him. I can only hope that Falon'Din came for him and took him home." He gave Merrill a pitying look. "So Tamlen is accounted for, and I'm standing right in front of you. There's no _need _for the mirror, Merrill."

"But we could learn so _much_!"

"Could we? Duncan thought that the mirror was Tevinter in origin because the frame it had been set in was Tevinter. Who knows-perhaps the mirror was corrupted because the magisters had used it to see into, or even go to the Golden City. They stole so much from us that it wouldn't surprise me. It's true that your shard is not corrupted now. But I suspect that if you were to complete a working mirror, it would only connect itself to the source of the corruption and be tainted again anew."

"You don't know that, Lhaine."

"No, I don't. But is it worth risking your clan," he gestured around at the others, "to find out? Yes, Firsts and Keepers preserve the old knowledge. But first and foremost, they also make the wise decisions that _preserve the clan_. And sometimes that means knowing when to let the past go."

Approval and agreement rose around them. Then Harethlan growled, "We do not wish Merrill as our First in any event. We don't trust her." Several elves chimed in with similar sentiments. "She was willing to let us all be corrupted, just to possibly find out some of the Ancestors' secrets!" Ineria exclaimed. "Dealing with demons, then coming back into the camp, among our children!"

_Well. This is not good_, Zevran thought. _We've got the next best thing to a lynch mob here._Had his preternaturally lucky friend finally set something in motion that he couldn't handle? Ironically enough, among his own people?

"Some of her behavior could be being influenced by the demon," Lhaine said, in an effort to reason with his clan-mates. "The Merrill I grew up with would not wish to put the clan in danger."

"That doesn't make it better!" Terath called.

"No, it doesn't. But if the demon is removed, then perhaps she'll be herself again."

"And the _next_ time a demon offers her something she wants?" came the hunter's mocking question. "What do we do then? She has already proven she can be tempted. How many times do we forgive her?" Cries of agreement came from the onlookers.

"From the look of things, you've not forgiven her _once_ yet."

"Lhaine, that demon is a very ancient, powerful one," Marethari warned, her brow wrinkled in concern. "What the _shemlen_ call a pride demon. _I_ could not overcome it myself."

"If a Keeper or First falls to a demon, there is only one thing to be done," _Hahren_ Paivel said. "And you know it, Lhaine." As if only just now becoming aware of her peril, Merrill gave Paivel a wide-eyed look.

"_Really_? If that is the case, if Merrill is such a danger, then why have you not _done so already_?" Lhaine's gaze, stern now, raked the crowd. "Were you too afraid of what Merrill might do if you confronted her?"

Some sheepish looks met his, but Ilen lifted his head proudly and declared, "It is the _Keeper's_ place to determine when her First is no longer acceptable. Marethari had not declared it yet."

"And why is that, Keeper?"

The Keeper frowned, and her voice was chilly when she answered. "It is not for you to question my decisions, Lhaine. Firsts and Keepers have their own tests that they must pass to achieve their status, even as Hunters do. I have argued long with Merrill in vain, trying to turn her from this path, but I do still believe her salvageable as a Dalish if not as First."

But the hunter who had faced down an Archdemon was not daunted by Marethari's ire. "And I am _Hahren_ and Hunter, charged with the protection of the clan. The divisiveness I see here is every bit as dangerous to us as the darkspawn on the mountain, or the rogue _shemlen_ I cleared from your gate." Lhaine looked around at his clan-mates.

"Therefore, _I _am going to decide what is to be done here. The first thing that is going to happen is that Merrill is going to destroy the mirror shard, now, tonight."

"Lhaine!" came her cry of protest, quickly silenced when he looked at her.

"The second thing that is going to happen is that Merrill and I will go up Sundermount. She will show me where her demon friend is laired, summon it up, and then she and I will kill it. After that is done, we will discuss Merrill's status in the clan."

Zevran was appalled. This was becoming less and less the pleasure journey to a family reunion and more and more business as usual. _First the raiders, now a **pride demon**? And Lhaine mentioned darkspawn. He'll be hunting those as well, it is certain! __**Basta**__!_

Lhaine was continuing, with a firm surety that could not be questioned. "Merrill, we'll do this outside the camp. Master Ilen, would you please bring me Starfang? That's the blue sword." The craftmaster hastened off to his aravel, and Lhaine turned his attention back to the First. "I don't know what spells you've learned since I've been gone. Fire is always best for things that are Tainted, though this isn't now. Do you have any fire spells?"

"No, Lhaine. I do elemental spells, mostly. Lightning and earth." She was weeping again, quietly, tears pouring down her gamine face. Zevran almost felt sorry for her, despite her foolishness.

"Then those will have to serve." Master Ilen was returning with Lhaine's whole sword harness and both swords.

"I did not wish to draw it, _hahren_."

Lhaine shrugged the harness on. "I have no problem with you handling my blades, Master Ilen, but thank you." He took Merrill's elbow, gently but firmly. "Come, Merrill, let's get this done."

It was an odd procession that filed out of the camp, under the diffuse moonlight that percolated through Sundermount's almost perpetual cloud cover. Two elves in what looked like night clothes, armed with sword and staff (Marethari had had Merrill's staff brought to her), followed by a procession of other armed elves, some in their night clothes, others fully dressed. The two men standing guard at Aldwyn's camp were undoubtedly amused. Or bemused, more like.

Lhaine led them to one of the rock outcroppings at the head of the trail, well away from both the Dalish and _shemlen_ camps. A large, flat rock was there, almost altar-like, a remnant of what looked to be very ancient ruins. There was a break in the clouds and moonlight poured down upon it. Lhaine laid the shard down upon the stone, and spoke some words in Dalish.

"_Mythal. Tu elvhen reth." _At just that moment, the moonlight intensified, seeming to cast a glow upon his pale hair and clothes. A murmur came from the watchers.

Then Starfang and Topsider were drawn and lashed out simultaneously, the movement almost too quick to be seen, the flats of the blades impacting with the shard. There were was a loud cracking sound, much louder than a regular piece of glass of that size would have made. Merrill bit her knuckle, stifling a cry. A smell of ozone filled the air.

"_Now_, Merrill." There was no denying the command in that voice, but Merrill looked as if she'd like to for a moment, her gentle expression actually rebellious. Then lightning lashed out from her staff, crackling over the pieces of glass on the stone.

"Again. Keep it coming." The First obediently threw stone and lightning alternately at the pieces of the shard, until they were crumbled almost to dust and fused by the heat of the lightning to the stone itself, a scatter of silvery speckles across grey rock.

Fire lashed across the rock then, from Marethari's hands, and was repeated several more times.

"It is my duty to help as well, _hahren_," she said in answer to Lhaine's inquiring look. "Since she is my First and I could not dissuade her. What is to be done now?"

Lhaine looked over at Merrill, who stood despondently, her staff lax in her hand, oblivious to the stares of those about her.

"I think it best if she not sleep again until the demon is killed. The quicker this is done, the better."

"That was true, what you said to Merrill of the demons you've faced. You do indeed have knowledge of these things."

"More than I wish I had, Keeper."

"What may we do to help?"

_Get some of your hunters off their asses to go __**with**__ us, _Zevran was thinking, but Lhaine's wishes were much more modest. "I'd really like some breakfast before we go. Wardens learn to substitute food for sleep."

Marethari nodded. "Mages work better on a full stomach as well. Let us see if we can coax Merrill to eat something."

* * *

><p>Zevran found it all very surreal, the way the Dalish all returned to camp and set about cooking an early breakfast as if nothing extraordinary was going to happen. But that didn't keep him from getting his own helping of hot, honeyed porridge and seating himself on a log beside Lhaine. He was not particularly hungry, but at the very least, the heat of the bowl helped to keep his hands warm in the damp chill of the early morning mountain air.<p>

"I do not think this is what Alistair had in mind when he sent you to bring your clan back, Lhaine," he remarked after eating a couple of mouthfuls of porridge. "Not that I was privy to the discussions between the two of you on the matter, of course. But I'm betting that killing very ancient pride demons didn't come up at all."

Though his eyes were shadowed and bruised-looking, Lhaine's smile was genuine enough. "You would be right about that, Zev. But this needs to be done. Merrill and Tamlen and I-we were very close when we were growing up. I know that he'd want me to help her."

"Are you going to tell Captain Aldwyn about this?"

"Of course not. His men are good, but I don't think they're up to facing a demon."

"I will point out that you don't have your usual back-up. Not Sten, nor Oghren, nor Alistair nor Daveth. Not even Dagger, for that matter. Which requires that I armor up and go with you."

"You don't have to do that, Zev. That's a bit above and beyond the call of duty."

"Not when there is a life-debt between us, my friend. Which you _might_ keep in mind the _next_ time you get one of these hare-brained ideas of yours when it's just the two of us traveling."

Lhaine set his spoon in his bowl and his bowl on his knee. His free arm slipped about Zevran's shoulders, pulling him close. "I will try in future to do just that. But in the meantime, thank you."

And because it was Lhaine, oddly enough that was more than enough reward for going to what was most likely a gruesome death beneath a pride demon's warty feet.

_Oh how far the Crow has fallen, _reflected Zevran, before he smiled and hugged Lhaine back.

* * *

><p>I've been pretty remiss in putting translations down for the Dalish. I'll try to do better in future.<p>

_Mythal. Tu elvhen reth _is my feeble attempt at invoking Mythal's protection. According to the Wiki, _tu_ is "to make or cause", _elvhen_ is of course The People or elves and

_reth _is "safety". "Make or keep the people safe" is what I was trying for.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks to ulicpav, Bloodsong 13T, mille libri, Ventisquear, david9999, ShebasDawn and Eva Galana for the reviews last chapter. And additional thanks to ShebasDawn for the nudge!

We're back in Denerim this chapter. Demon-slaying in the next. But I did manage a little Alistair/Lhaine goodness of a sort, because I'm clever that way.

* * *

><p>"So. How old were you when you decided that you liked girls?" Alistair asked Alfstanna. They were dining alone in his quarters. As a betrothed couple, a chaperone was not necessary. Eamon at least was probably hoping they were engaging in all sorts of bedroom gymnastics already. But these dinners not romantic; rather, they were just a way to unwind after a long, oftentimes frustrating day and get to know one another.<p>

"I was actually thirteen when it first occurred to me," the Bann of Waking Sea replied, swirling her after-dinner brandy in its glass and sniffing it appreciatively. "I started having _feelings_. You know the ones. Only instead of having them about the squires in the courtyard, I found myself eyeing Mother's ladies-maids. The boys left me unmoved." She sighed. "I wasn't sure _exactly_ what was going on, but even then I knew it wasn't what was happening with everyone else."

"Did you…ever try anything with a boy?" Alistair's ears got pink.

"I did. Mostly because it was all the girls wanted to talk about and I was odd enough as it was, what with the archery and all the classes I had to take because I was going to be Bann. Irminric was supposed to be the heir, but then he got a vocation and went into the Chantry and I had to step up. He's six years older than I am."

"So what happened? Were you betrothed to someone?"

"Well that's where being the heir to the bannorn saved me, at least initially. A girl who was going to have to make a noble marriage needed to keep her legs locked. A girl who was going to call the shots in the bannorn had a little more freedom. So when I was fifteen, I started seeing this squire named Rolf." She chuckled. "Poor Rolf! He was a good fellow, really, but always conscious that if he went too far, Father would have his balls for breakfast. Still, we got up to _some _stuff, petting and kissing and the like. Did pretty much everything but the deed itself. And Rolf left me totally unmoved. I'd sit there while it was going on, trying to hold up my end of things and thinking, _is __**this**__ what the fuss is all about_?"

"So when did you first sleep with a woman?"

"Right after Rolf and I broke up. One of mother's maids, Lilian. She'd been giving me the eye and figured out what was going on, so she made an excuse to bring me some of my clothes one evening and put the moves on me. And it felt so _right _and it was so _good_! That's when I knew I was really in trouble." Alfstanna set her brandy down, plucked up a little frosted cake from the dessert platter, and started nibbling. "All right," she said between bites. "Your turn for a while. When did you realize you were interested in men?"

"I don't know that I am, in general. I do like women, and I have been attracted to them. I think I might just be interested in _Lhaine_."

"Or maybe you just have a certain _type_ of man you like," Alfstanna suggested. "But what you're saying is that you'll go either way."

Alistair's blush, which had subsided, returned. "I guess so." A thought occurred to him then, and he shuddered. "Maker! I guess in that respect I'm as bad as Zevran!"

"I don't think you're _quite_ as bad off as that."

He inclined his head to her gratefully. "_Thank you_, my lady!" Taking up his own glass, he continued. "The Chantry wasn't big on encouraging feelings of either sort. It was a sin either way. So I tried not to think about sex at all, really, and just did a lot of wanking off when I couldn't help it." Alfstanna chuckled.

"At least they don't ban _that_! It would be pretty damned cruel if they did!"

"I'll say! So anyway, I spent a lot of time trying not to think about it at all. Then Duncan conscripted me into the Wardens and there I was, spending all my time with a bunch of Warden brothers who were basically living life to the fullest and talked of nothing else when they weren't actually _doing_ it. I had almost worked my way around to the idea that maybe it would be all right to go be with a woman, just to shut everyone up. Virgin harassment was the preferred Warden sport after I came along. They even took up a _collection _to get me laid."

Alfstanna, who'd just been sipping her brandy, snorted a laugh, then cursed in a clogged voice when the liquor shot up her nose. Alistair winced and handed her a napkin.

"Sorry about that, Alfstanna!" The bann pressed the napkin to her face and spoke through it, her voice muffled by the fabric.

"It's all right. Just warn me in the future." Blowing her nose, she folded the napkin over and laid it on the table and looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. "So-did you use this collection they gave you?"

"I was going to. Then Duncan showed up with Lhaine, and the end times were upon us." Alistair's face darkened.

"What did you think of Lhaine when you first saw him?" Alfstanna asked quickly, hoping to divert the subject from the tragedy at Ostagar. It worked. Alistair brightened immediately.

"That he was scary. He was like no elf I'd ever met before. The others were all servants. They were servile. Lhaine was a warrior. You could tell that it would be worth your life to try to get those knives away from him." The King's voice softened. "And I thought that he was _beautiful_. It startled me. I'd never thought of a _man _in those terms before."

Alfstanna smiled. "So what happened? Did you get anything going with him?"

"Maker, no! Or not for a long time. After Flemeth saved us from Ostagar, we were on the run. And I hate to admit it, but I wasn't holding my end of things up." Alistair grimaced. "Duncan and the Wardens-they were the first thing I'd ever had that resembled family, even if it had only been for a few months. I was the senior surviving Warden and I should have been the one in charge. But I was too busy wallowing in grief. I deferred to Lhaine, who had lost his own family he'd known his whole life. I made him make the decisions, when he'd had next to no experience of human society and culture."

"From the sound of things, he did all right."

"_More_ than all right. But it was a strain on him. I think it was maybe four, five months before he was at ease enough in his role and I got my head out of my arse long enough that we could worry about things like attraction."

"And then?" His betrothed had finished her cake. She poured herself another brandy and settled back attentively.

"Well, then I found that I was watching Lhaine and thinking about him all the time. Particularly at night and in the privacy of my tent. That was a bit of a shock, I must admit!" Alfstanna chuckled at his expression of reminiscent dismay. Alistair gave her a rueful smile in return.

"Lhaine, who had had both male and female lovers-did you know he has a daughter he's never seen?-could tell that I was interested. So he was sounding me out, without my even knowing that was what he was doing. And he found out that I was a virgin. He says that he was considering working around to being with me very slowly and carefully. But then we went to Redcliffe and I told him who I was. As far as Lhaine was concerned, that meant things were over before they began. Two Wardens loving as they pleased was one thing, but he wasn't going to get me involved in a relationship with an elven man, if I had to marry a woman for the sake of the kingdom."

"That was very principled of him. But wait-Lhaine said you weren't being intimate presently. Are you telling me that the two of you have _never_ really slept together?"

"We didn't then. We were just really close friends who wished they might be something more. It was damned frustrating for both of us. And of course, after Drakon, there wasn't anything…" Alistair blushed. "We did manage to get up to a little something before Lhaine set off to Kirkwall."

"That's good to know! Was that the first time?"

"Not exactly. We've always hugged. And we kissed once."

"Your first kiss?"

"Yes. And for a while, I thought it would be the last…"

* * *

><p><em>They'd fought their way to the city gates, had cleared them of darkspawn completely. Some of the Fereldan soldiers were fanning out to deal with the stragglers, but the Wardens and their companions congregated in a group before the gates, taking a bit of a rest.<em>

"_Morrigan," Alistair heard Lhaine say softly. Just one word, but the witch was with him in an instant, uncorking a potion bottle that wasn't healing or any standard potion Alistair had ever heard of. He suspected there was poppy in it-certainly there was some sort of pain-killer and a potent one, for the pain lines in Lhaine's face began to slacken almost immediately. He would still have been in bed, had there been any justice in the world, but the Archdemon had risen at last and so therefore had Lhaine, marching with the army all the way down to Redcliffe and back on those barely-healed legs. And he was even managing to fight, only the least bit off of his usual extraordinary best. It was astounding._

_Wynne went over to speak to him, her expression one of disapproval. Alistair could just barely hear them._

"_Lhaine. This is not wise. You just had some of that a couple of hours ago. If you keep taking it like that, you'll be addicted."_

_Miraculously, something resembling genuine amusement came over Lhaine's face then. It startled Alistair, who'd become accustomed to the grim reserve that had been his mien since Drakon. The elf lifted his gauntleted hand gently to Wynne's wizened cheek._

"_A possible addiction to painkillers is so far down the list of my concerns that it doesn't even register, Wynne," he said softly. "Come now. You know that it doesn't matter. I've only got to get through the day. And I need this to do it."_

"_Oh, Lhaine!" she exclaimed. Alistair thought that she might actually be crying._

"_I regret the possibility of undoing all your hard work," he said, with a ghost of his usual courtesy, "but who was it who kept telling me all those tales about Wardens getting obliterated in order to save mankind?"_

"_I'm __**sorry**__!"_

"_Don't be. It may be that I needed to hear them." His gaze passed over Alistair then, with none of its usual warmth, as if his eyes had met a stranger's. He turned to Riordan. "Senior Warden, what is the plan?"_

_When Riordan had laid out his strategy and asked Lhaine to choose his party to accompany him into Denerim, the elf looked around at his companions, assessing, as he had always been wont to do before starting a mission._

"_Dagger," he said at last, the mabari responding with a happy whuff. "Morrigan. Zevran. And Sten."_

"_And who will command the others?"_

"_Alistair, of course." Alistair watched in stunned disbelief as Lhaine exchanged farewells with Wynne, Oghren, Leliana and Shale. When his attention finally turned to Alistair, his face was closed off, distant once more, as if he were already listening to that Falon'Din fellow, the one that guided the elves to their afterlife._

"_Lhaine, you can't do this! I'm a Warden! I need to be with you!"_

"_You are also going to be the King of Ferelden," came his cool reply. "I will not deprive your people of their __**Hahren**__ if I can help it. If Riordan and I should fail, then it will fall to you to see things done. Give us some time and if you can clear the gate, then follow us into the city. Farewell, brother. Creators keep you safe." He turned then, and without saying anything further started to walk away, his chosen few falling in behind him._

_It was if he were walking into his Beyond, out of Alistair's life._

"_**Lhaine!"**_

_The cry that burst from Alistair then was primal, filled with all the want and need that he'd been holding back for months, and it brought every head in both parties swiveling around to stare at him. But he didn't care, for the one person that mattered, Lhaine, had stopped, his own head cocked up and a little to one side as he apparently considered for a moment._

_Turning around, the Dalish stripped off his gauntlets and handed them to Zevran, who was closest. Then, ever so deliberately, he began to pace back to Alistair. And his face as he did so was no longer distant, his green eyes brimming with regret and remorse and resolve all swirled together._

_He reached Alistair and looked up at him. "Forgive me, __**emma lath**__. I thought it would be easier for both of us that way." His hands reached up. Alistair could still see the knobby places where the bones were mending. They touched Alistair's dragon bone cuirass, slid upwards upon it and curled about Alistair's neck. Then he went up on his toes and pressed his mouth to Alistair's._

_Alistair had wondered what it would feel like for months. He'd worried that, despite his attraction to Lhaine, he would be repelled when kissed by a man and would hurt his dearest friend. He was not and what came over him then was a sense of incredible __**rightness, **__of completion, which he savored even while his innermost heart was beginning to wail, knowing that he was in all likelihood losing it forever._

_Lhaine's lips were warm and soft and even now, after marching from Redcliffe and fighting all day, there was still hint of pine and forest in his hair. Alistair's body had lit like a torch at the contact and part of him wanted to throw arms about Lhaine and crush him close. But he knew better than to do that now. Instead, he made himself twine them slowly and carefully about the elf. Lhaine suffered it well enough. Alistair wondered if the potion wasn't at least partially responsible for that. _

_He wasn't sure exactly what to do, but Lhaine knew enough for both of them and soon his mouth was open and their tongues were tangling together and Maker! it was good, despite Oghren's cackling and his "So that's the way of it! Heh!" in the background. And it went on for a very long time. When the kiss was done, Lhaine's hands slid down from behind Alistair's neck and rested on his chest, his head being tucked beneath Alistair's chin. Another thing that felt absolutely, completely right._

_They stood like that for a couple of minutes before Lhaine sighed and stepped back. He looked up at Alistair, the stranger banished forever._

"_Thank you for everything, __**emma lath**__,"__he said gently, before turning once more and rejoining Zevran and the others. Blinking tears back, Alistair watched him go. It was easier this time than the first in some ways, and worse in others._

"_**Dareth shiral**__, Lhaine," he called after his love. Who stopped once more again and nodded, before moving on without looking back._

* * *

><p>Alfstanna reached for the already-abused napkin on the table and blew her nose again. "That is so incredibly <em>romantic<em>!"

"Really?"

"Oh yes! You don't think so? I'm surprised your bard-friend hasn't written a song about it."

Alistair shrugged. "Leli might very well have, but let's face it. Unless the spots are knocked off, it wouldn't be very good for my very tentative rule to be spreading it about that the King is a pervy elf-boy fancier. It might call into question the legitimacy of any children the two of _us_ have. So if she did write it, I suspect she's keeping that one to herself."

"So-how would she do it?" Alfstanna asked, amused. "Knock the spots off, I mean. Put that gorgeous apostate that was running with you in Lhaine's place?" At the look on Alistair's face, she threw her hands up. "Sorry! Oh, so sorry! I didn't mean to offend!"

He waved his glass in her general direction. "It's all right. I actually did sleep with Morrigan. Once. Creepy in the extreme. I kept wondering when the fangs were going to come out and she was going to chew her way through my neck and decapitate me." He took a big drink. "Ugh. It's going to take more than brandy to get that memory out of my head. You owe me for putting it there. So-how did you and Shaura have your first kiss?"

"It was much more workaday than you and the Warden."

* * *

><p><em>Shaura was sick for weeks, and even after she finally fought the fever down, she was bed-ridden for a couple of weeks after that. Getting back on her feet took more time and to approach her former ability with sword and dagger longer still. Alfstanna was her primary sparring partner, since she didn't think Shaura needed the temptation or trauma of sparring with the bannorn guard. And as the elf recovered, she began presenting quite the challenge to the young bann, whose sword-work had always taken a back seat to her archery.<em>

_The sword-play was not the only challenge Alfstanna was facing. As Shaura got better and filled back out, the bann became aware that she was strongly attracted to the elven girl. Not only was Shaura beautiful, she possessed a resilience of spirit and innate dignity that Alfstanna found admirable. Shaura's descriptions of life in the alienage alternately outraged and impressed the young bann. The people of the alienage, downtrodden though they were, were stronger in many ways than their human counterparts knew. Certainly they seemed to care for each other more than humans would have under similar circumstances._

_And as humble as their circumstances were, they were capable of an odd and prickly sort of pride. Shaura, she suspected, possessed more of that than most, which made any sort of romantic move something to be approached with extreme care. Alfstanna had no idea about how elves felt about same-sex relationships. Even if they didn't have any problems with it, the sense of obligation Shenly was feeling might very well make her agree to a relationship in recompense, which was something Alfstanna did not want. Alternatively, it might also offend her to the point that she fled Waking Reach, something Alfstanna also did not want._

_Finding young women who shared her tastes was a rare enough thing. Not to mention young women with her tastes who were discreet and intelligent. Alfstanna was used to going without. She decided that it was up to Shaura to make the first move. If she ever did…_

_When the forged mercenary papers arrived, Shaura Tabris became Shenly Quicksilver. Alfstanna offered her employment as her bodyguard, and the new-made Shenly, realizing that this was her best opportunity to keep a sword in her hand and actually get news of her father as well, agreed. A couple of months passed as she settled into her new role. Alfstanna insisted that since she was moving about in Ferelden's highest society, that she needed to acquire a bit of polish. Shenly grudgingly agreed to comportment lessons, which Alfstanna oversaw in part herself, and left in part to the family's aged butler, a kindly man who had served the Ayersleys since before Alfstanna was born. His disposition was so truly sweet and obliging that even Shenly's most truculent moods did not affect him. In fact, it turned out to be the best way to manage her, as even _shemlen_-hating Shenly felt ashamed of snapping at such an unobjectionable person and moderated her behavior accordingly._

_Her new bodyguard was also a woman of keen intelligence, and Alfstanna was amazed at how quickly she picked things up, how hungry her mind was for knowledge. The young elf could read, she'd been taught by her father, but at a very basic level, and the young bann quite enjoyed finding books that would both intrigue and challenge her. Shenly was under orders to write down the words she didn't understand and Alfstanna would discuss them with her after dinner. Those discussions became the high point of the day for both of them, for they often moved beyond vocabulary to a mutual sharing of their pasts and their very different viewpoints about the society they both inhabited._

_Alfstanna's restraint became sorely tested during those conversations. They usually took place in the library, with brandy, and the alcohol and the privacy only made amorous thoughts more difficult to resist. She tried to repress them as best she could, and thought she had succeeded, until one night Shenly looked straight at her and said, "Are you wanting a lick-and-tickle or what?"_

_Startled, Alfstanna asked, "I beg your pardon?"_

"_You've been making eyes at me for weeks now. You wanting some girl-on-girl action?"_

Maker, yes! _Alfstanna thought. But aloud, she asked, with what she thought was commendable control, "Do elves do that sort of thing?"_

"_Don't know about the Dalish," Shenly admitted, taking a sip of her brandy. "But city elves? Sure. After all, we're supposed to go pure as falling snow to our wedding beds. But we're young and horny and hot-blooded, and sometimes the matchmakers take their time setting things up. I've been to my share of slumber parties. What about you?"_

"_Once or twice. It's not something to approve of, in human culture. Are you honestly saying elves don't care?"_

"_So long as you're old enough and not married yet, then no. After you get married, you're supposed to set that aside, cleave to your husband or wife and get down to seriously cranking out little elf babies. Now boy and girl-_no way_! You're supposed to wait for your arranged marriage. We can be as harsh as _shems_ about girls who get knocked up sleeping around. Girls raped by _shems _are another matter._ _We know that's not their fault."_

"_What happens to _those_ children when they're born?"_

_Shenly shrugged. "More often than not, the girl gives the baby to the Chantry or finds a home for it elsewhere. They look like humans. They wouldn't have an easy time of it among us. And they're more likely to have a better chance with the _shems_." She cocked her head curiously at Alfstanna. "What about your lot?"_

"_Noble girls are supposed to keep their legs closed until they are married. Noble boys…I don't have to tell _you _what happens there."_

"_No, you don't," Shenly agreed, her tone suddenly flat. Silence fell, broken only by the crackling of the fire for a few moments. Then she spoke again, more brightly. "Does that mean you're a virgin?"_

_Alfstanna shook her head. "A bann who is a woman has more freedom. I've taken precautions-and a young man a couple of times. I wanted to see if I fancied men at all."_

"_And do you?" Shenly's eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. Alfstanna thought she looked gorgeous.  
><em>

"_No. After some consideration, I find that I don't care for cock at all."_

"_Sucks to be you, then," the bodyguard noted, taking another drink. "Given that you _have_ to get married to a guy at some point."_

"_Yes, I'm not looking forward to that. I really worry about disappointing someone." Alfstanna gave Shenly an inquiring look. "Does what you said mean you're a virgin then?"_

"_Yes, at least as far as guys are concerned. Nelaros would have been the only one." She assumed a lofty expression. "I am a very _good_ elf."_

_Alfstanna snorted. "You are _not_! You're a very _bad_ elf as far as humans are concerned! You _killed three noblemen_!"_

"_Got me there," Shenly admitted, without showing anything resembling remorse. "Okay, how's this? I'm a very _pure _elf."_

"That_ I will give you."_

"_That's awfully nice of your ladyship. But you've still not answered my question. Lick-and-tickle or not?"_

"_Not unless _you_ wanted it. As in _really_ wanted it, not just pretending to do so because you think you owe me or something. Because that's something I don't want you to ever feel you're obligated to do."_

"_Huh. How am I supposed to know if I want it or not without a sample?"_

"_A _sample_?"_

"_Yes. A sample. Something to give me an idea of what I'd be missing."_

_To her horror, Alfstanna immediately blushed beet red. _Cursed red hair! _she thought, as she had had cause to do many times in the past. Shenly chuckled to see it, got up, came deliberately over to her chair and settled herself into Alfstanna's lap in a leisurely manner. But her lips, when they came down on the bann's, were anything but leisurely, warm and flexible and tasting of brandy, and Alfstanna felt her whole body heat._

_The kiss went on for a very long time. Eventually, Shenly broke it off and grinned._

"Nice_ sample, your ladyship! I'll certainly consider it!" And with that, she got up, drained her glass and left the room as if nothing at all had happened, leaving a totally flummoxed and very aroused Alfstanna sitting in her chair._

* * *

><p>Alistair was a little flushed when Alfstanna finished her story and she chuckled to see it.<p>

"What _is_ it about guys that they find two women doing each other so very entrancing?"

"I don't know," he said ruefully. "But it _was_ hot." His brow furrowed as he considered his next words carefully.

"If you need Shaura to be with us, when we…you know, when we do our duty for Ferelden, then I'm all right with that. I know that it is going to be hard for you."

A bit surprised, Alfstanna said, "I think that that is rather up to Shaura, don't you? Though I appreciate the thought, Alistair. I know that you are trying to be as accommodating as you can, in what is a difficult situation."

That goofy, disarming grin spread over his face. "Difficult? This isn't difficult, Alfstanna! Now being married to Habren Bryland, _that _would be difficult!" He shuddered theatrically. "Or Anora. Brrrrrrr!"

His much more amiable betrothed laughed. "You've got me there! Of course, if you're going to be accommodating, then I should be as well. If _you _need _Lhaine_ around when we do our duty, then I'm all right with that!" Her smiled turned a bit wicked. "In fact, if you're being generous so that you can watch Shaura warm me up, then I should mention that the idea of watching you with Lhaine is not…displeasing to me as well."

Alistair promptly turned crimson. "Maker!" he said after a moment. "I don't know that I'll ever be able to get Lhaine to go all the way with _me_, much less in front of an audience!" But he obviously wasn't offended, and perhaps even found the idea stimulating, given his reaction. "And I think I'd need to get a bigger bed first," he said after a moment, and Alfstanna exploded into laughter. Alistair joined her and they both laughed until their eyes were watering.

"Perhaps we should leave off planning the mass orgies until we've settled our own marriage a little better," Alfstanna remarked at last, wiping her eyes, and Alistair, still a bit overcome, nodded agreement. "While we're on the subject though, there's something I've been thinking about and I'd like to discuss it with you. Will you promise not to be offended until you hear me out?"

"I should like to think we would be able to talk to each other about almost anything," the King said earnestly. "I don't see how this is going to work otherwise."

Alfstanna nodded. "All right then. The one thing that bothers me about my relationship with Shaura is that it's not fair to her in some ways. She won't ever have children if she stays with me exclusively, and I think that's a shame. Shaura is an extraordinary individual and I would like to see that passed down. And it's a very important thing to the culture she grew up in, that you have children."

"Are you suggesting that _I _sleep with her? I mean she's really pretty and all, but I don't think…"

"Not _you_. I wouldn't ask _you_ of all people to have a bastard child. It wouldn't be good for your reign and I don't think Shaura would be interested in having a child with a human."

There was a moment's silent thought before Alistair frowned. "I can't say that I like the idea of Lhaine being studded out at all, Alfstanna. And that's certainly up to him."

"You've not heard me out yet, Alistair," the future queen chided, holding up a hand. "_Of course _it's up to him and Shaura! And it may never happen. What I am wanting to know is-would it _bother_ you if it did happen? I'm all right with sharing Shaura in that way, but I'm not sure about the dynamics of your relationship with Lhaine. And its possible that, thrown together in close proximity as they would be while dealing with us, that some affection might grow between _them_ as well."

"I want Lhaine to have whatever helps him heal," Alistair said, with a sudden firm authority. "If he needs to go home and just stay with his clan to heal, then I'd accept that. If it turned out that he loved someone else and was happy with them, then I'd accept that as well and let him go. If he was _able_ to sleep with Shaura, and _wanted_ to, and that helped him, I'd be all for it. If he wanted children…like you are about Shaura, I think Lhaine is extraordinary. He's got the one daughter, but he can't be with her. I'd love to see him with children. I think he'd be an awesome father. And he's got the same problem I have-if he's going to be able to have any, he has to do it _soon_. But wouldn't they have to be married? And how would they go about doing that? I don't think Lhaine would want to be married by the Chantry and I'm not sure if Shaura would feel she was married if she only had a Dalish ceremony."

"That's a problem to be sure," Alfstanna agreed. "And it's one that would only need to be discussed if they were interested in each other. I won't deny the fact that benefits would accrue to us from this. It would be easier to hide what was going on between the four of us if Shaura and Lhaine were married as well. But both of them are very honorable in their ways and I'm not sure that either of them would care for a marriage of pretense." She shrugged. "It just occurred to me that I would _love_ for Shaura have children of her own and that's what came to mind." A smile came over her face. "Can't you just see it? Their children and ours playing together? Growing up together? It might help to change things."

"You do take the long view, don't you?" Alistair expression was bemused.

"As much as I'm unlike other women in a lot of ways, the dynastic viewpoint comes easily to us girls. And as a bann, I _have_ to take the long view." She got to her feet and moved around the table. Leaning over from behind Alistair's chair, she draped her arms about his neck and kissed his temple. "Thanks for hearing me out. I think we are going to become great friends."

"I do too," Alistair said, tipping his head up a little bit to give her easier access. He took one of the hands wrapped about him, kissed it, and was rewarded with a second kiss on the cheek. Smiling, he said, "You ought to get back to Shaura now that I've riled you up talking about first kisses. I'm quite envious."

"Lhaine will be back very soon, I'm sure," Alfstanna soothed, as she released him and started for the door. "And just think! He'll be well rested from all that quiet time with his clan!"


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks to pseud0zombie, guest, david9999, Eva Galana and mille libri for their lovely reviews a year ago! And particular thanks to ShebasDawn for nudging me repeatedly, which is why it isn't another year before you see this chapter.

I've had some of this written for quite a while, but some of it was difficult for me. You can probably figure out which bits those were.

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><p>It was entirely too early for anything at all, Zevran thought, as they toiled up the mountainside, except possibly for a little morning love-making. And he really didn't even care to do that until the sun was up. Certainly it was too early for demon-slaying, although upon reflection, he couldn't think of <em>any<em> time he felt was appropriate for that!

Most everyone in the clan was following them as they climbed the steep paths up Sundermount. The mood was half trepidation, half ghoulish cheer as far as Zevran could tell. The Dalish were worried about the demon, but there was also a definite undercurrent of satisfaction at the prospect of the First getting her comeuppance. At his side, Lhaine was grimly impassive, as was often the case with him before battle, and that impassivity was shared by the Keeper. Behind them, Merrill was twitchy and nervous, as if the enormity of what she had done had finally gotten through to her.

There was no conversation on the way up. They walked for what must have been the better part of an hour before they came to a cave opening high up upon a spur of the mountainside. The Keeper stepped into the cavern, Lhaine beside her, Merrill and Zevran following after. About half of the elves began moving cautiously in after them.

Once inside, the cavern looked like some sort of warped shrine. A staircase upon either side descended to a circular floor. Against the far wall, a twisted, grotesque statue stood. If its repellent appearance was indicative of the nature of the being it imprisoned, Zevran was even less enthusiastic about this little expedition than formerly. And that was saying something…

"Do you have to send us into the Fade to fight it, Keeper?" Lhaine asked, as matter-of-fact as if he were inquiring about directions to the marketplace.

Marethari gave him a startled, assessing look. "No. Or at least, I do not think so. It is imprisoned here, not in the Fade. Merrill should be able to summon it."

"Then let's try that first. Come, Merrill." He stepped forward onto the circular floor, Zevran at his side and Merrill at his heels.

"Lhaine." Fenarel's voice was tight and hesitant. "I'll…I'll fight it too." The hunter looked at his clansmen and -women clustered at the tops of both stairs and frowned. "He shouldn't have to do this alone! He's done enough!"

Lhaine smiled genuinely at his friend. "It's all right, _lethallin_. This is what I do now. But I thank you, and your help is most welcome." He looked over at Zevran. "Fenarel's a _good _shot. Give him some of the spirit arrows. In fact, give him most of them." The assassin nodded, and pulled a sheaf of arrows out of his quiver, dividing them between himself and Fenarel when the hunter came forward.

"Stay back out of things if you can, Fenarel," Lhaine said. "You and Merrill strike at range. You too, Zevran, until your arrows are spent." The assassin nodded. "I'll handle the close-in work." He tossed Zevran a couple of vials. The assassin gave them a knowledgeable look.

"Soulrot?"

Lhaine nodded. "I have some as well." Then he looked at the little First. "It's time, Merrill. Call him up."

Merrill stepped into the center of the open area. Her ears were almost red, she was so embarrassed at having to do publicly what she'd been doing in private. Drawing her dagger, she stretched her wrist out and sliced the palm of her hand. Blood dripped onto the ancient stones that floored the prison.

"Audacity, I summon thee," she breathed. Then again, distinctly audible. "Audacity, I summon thee." Then a third time, crying aloud. "_Audacity, I summon thee_!"

There was a boom and a rush of displaced air. Elves scrambled back towards the passageway in a panic as the huge demon manifested. Even Zevran, who had seen more than his share of demons, was impressed and intimidated by the size and obvious age of the thing.

"Merrill!" it boomed. "You brought guests!" Its multi-eyed head swiveled around, looking at the elves crowded near the entranceway. "And an _audience_! I do hope you aren't contemplating anything rash. Have I not held up my end of our bargain? Have I not given you information you can use to restore the _eluvian_? To reclaim such an important piece of your peoples' heritage, as is the wish of every Keeper and First?"

"You have given me _some_ information," the little elf quavered. "But not, I think, enough for me to accomplish the task. Just enough to achieve _your_ goals." She looked over at Lhaine as if for support, but he was still wearing that impassive expression.

The demon followed her glance. "Ah! The Mahariel! You honor me, Merrill, bringing me the last scion of an ancient house of princes. You _did _know that your ancestors were royal, did you not, Warden?"

Lhaine's lips curled up in a very specific way. Zevran had seen that smile before, and set himself, ready for battle.

"It does not signify. It has been long and long since Arlathan fell. The Dalish have no need for princes," came the Hero's surprisingly mild response.

"Does they not? With the deeds you have done, you could unite all the clans beneath your banner, claim back lands for your people."

A dismissive snort from Lhaine. "Numbers, I think, are against us. And my people already have land of their own."

"Land that the humans do not desire for themselves. Cold land, and not rich."

"Rich enough for our needs. And we will make it better over time."

"You could rule them."

"I am not a one to be founding dynasties."

Audacity's huge head craned forward, intent of a sudden. "I could fix that for you."

Merrill's head was swiveling back and forth, following the conversation. _Yes, watch how dealing with demons is __**properly**__ done_, _Merrill_, Zevran thought contemptuously. _You say no, and no, and __**no **__again!_

Lhaine did not disappoint him. "That does not lie within your power."

"How do _you_ know what lies within my power?"

"Demons possess an infinite capacity for deceit, but from what I can tell, they're not good for much else."

Audacity growled, frightening several of the onlookers. Fenarel himself jumped a bit. "And your experience of us is so extensive? There are many things I could give you, Lhaine Mahariel. A kingdom. Or even a _king_."

There were murmurs from the crowd at that, but the Hero of Ferelden just laughed out loud in genuine amusement. "To give me what I _already_ possess is no great feat, Audacity! You do not impress me, and there is nothing I would have from you. But I have a gift for _you_!" Starfang and Topsider sprang from their sheaths and his teeth bared suddenly in a snarl.

"I am going to free you from your prison today!"

The pride demon threw back its head and roared. Lhaine leapt forward and battle was joined.

* * *

><p>The watching Dalish had been raised upon tales of past glories, never to be regained again. Vague tales for the most part, so much of their history robbed from them. Now they watched as four elves confronted an ancient demon. Saw Fenarel's bow sing as it sent glowing magic arrows into the creature. Saw the Mahariel's flat-ear friend shoot those arrows as well for a while until they were spent, before going to sword and dagger to attempt to hamstring the demon, agile and brave as any hunter. Saw Merrill fearlessly battle the very creature which had seduced her, with lightning and hurled stone and grasping roots.<p>

And they saw what Lhaine Mahariel had become in the wider world; Blight-Queller, dragon-slayer, demon-slayer. Blades flashing, slashing, dodging the great, taloned hands and the stamping, clawed feet. Only once did Audacity manage to strike him, but it was a great, sweeping blow that sent him sailing through the air.

"_Lhaine_!" Fenarel cried, and cries of dismay rose from his clan-mates. But Lhaine tucked and rolled when he landed, skidding a bit on the stone with a screech of armor. Then he got to his feet, shaking his head a little, retrieved his fallen swords and went right back to the attack. A muffled cheer rose from the Sabrae.

Even busy as he was dodging Audacity's spurred feet, Zevran saw the blow, the recovery, the look of dogged persistence upon Lhaine's face as he leapt back into battle and his heart warmed. _There has never been one more worthy of the title Hero, my friend, than you!_

The quartet of _elvhen_ heroes were starting to wear Audacity down. The demon's attacks were slowing, ichor streaming from the many wounds inflicted upon him.

"Merill!" Lhaine suddenly cried. "Everything you have, NOW!"

Roots twined about the demon's ankles and lightning forked, crackling about its head and body. Zevran, knowing his friend's fighting style and suspecting what was to come, dodged to the side, slashing at the back of the demon's knee as he went. As the lightning began to dissipate, when Audacity was momentarily immobilized and blinded, Lhaine leapt upwards from a running start, burying Starfang to the hilt in the demon's lower chest. Then, swinging up from that handhold, he sank Topsider into the demon in its turn, higher up. Finally, Starfang was pulled free of the wound it had made. Lhaine swung up again, reversing the glowing blade and backhanding it across the demon's throat. Audacity fell backward, black ichor gouting and the Sabraes' former hunter rode the demon down, tucking and rolling again when it hit the ancient, cracked pavement.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the harsh, panting breaths of the four combatants. When it became obvious that the demon, its throat laid open to the spine was not ever going to get back up, the Sabrae erupted into cheers.

Fenarel, Zevran and Merrill all ran over to embrace Lhaine, who winced a bit when they did so. Green healing light washed over all of them, courtesy of Marethari, and Lhaine visibly relaxed when it faded.

"That was well done, all of you," he said, smiling around at them. Then he turned towards his clan mates and raised a hand. Silence fell.

"You have all seen the demon now, its age and power. Even the Keeper did not think she could defeat it. Small wonder it was able to cozen Merrill! Yes, she made a mistake, but came to know that in time. I think she will be the stronger for that in the long run, perhaps even stronger than a Keeper who has never been tempted. But we'll discuss her disposition later, as well as any action we might take against the _harelen_ lairing close to the camp." His hand rose to his mouth to cover a sudden yawn. "Do you know? I actually think I could sleep now."

"Because a bedtime story wouldn't have worked quite as well?" Zevran inquired sweetly. "If you think I am going to do this sort of thing every day just so you can _sleep_, _mio amico_, you are in for a disappointment!" Laughter arose from the elves. Some came over to examine the demon's body more closely, but the majority of the clan began to straggle back down the mountainside.

Lhaine threw an arm about the assassin's shoulders.

"Thanks for having my back, _lethallin_," he murmured in Zevran's ear.

Zevran might work for Alistair, but he knew who his true _signore _was. "Maker save me, but I always will."

* * *

><p>They'd had several more of their intimate dinners before Alfstanna brought the subject up. Alistair had been expecting it, but was nonetheless surprised by the depth of emotion the query produced in him.<p>

"Alistair. Do you want to tell me about what happened in Drakon?" she asked.

He sat frozen for a moment, as memories came crashing in. Seeing the expression on his face, Alfstanna immediately backed off. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I just thought that it might help."

He raised a hand. "No, it's all right. It's just that…that's when a lot of things changed for me. And maybe it _would _help to talk about it sometime." His attempt at a smile was more strained than reassuring. "Just not quite yet, if you don't mind."

"Of course. I should go." She rose to depart. Alistair caught up her hand and kissed it gently.

"It's _all right_, Alfstanna. You're a good friend and maybe some day I'll be able to talk about it to you. I hope so. Give Shaura my regards, will you?"

She nodded. Her lips brushed his cheek. "I'll do that. Good night, Alistair."

After she left Alistair went into his rooms, sat down at his desk and virtuously tried to work on the pile of paperwork he'd brought with him from the Council chambers. But after making himself to read through two of the documents three times before he could fully comprehend them, he was forced to conclude that such things would be better left to a time when his emotions and thoughts were calmer. Pouring himself some brandy, he went and sat in front of his fire.

It was all too easy to go from missing and worrying about Lhaine in the present to remembering how he'd feared for him in Drakon. Of all of the foes they'd faced in the Blight Quest, Alistair had never seen true terror in Lhaine's green eyes before-not until Orson Saltwell and his jailors had dragged the elf out of the cell and into the torture chamber…

* * *

><p><em>Their cell was immediately adjacent to the torture chamber and Saltwell had considerately left the door open.<em>

_There was no way to escape the sounds, the knowledge of what was going on in the next room. Alistair sat huddled in the straw in the corner, arms wrapped about his knees, tense, miserable, feeling totally impotent and oddly guilty, and listened Listened to the sounds of flesh slapping flesh and the coarse jocularity of men who mocked even while they violated a helpless victim Sickened to his soul, he lurched over to the bucket in the corner and spewed the bile that was the only thing his stomach contained as Lhaine was raped. _

_Later he listened to the sounds of leather hissing through the air striking flesh, of the ratcheting of gears and clanking of chains, of muffled, blunt impacts. Lhaine himself was silent for the most part, a level of endurance Alistair knew that he himself could not have matched. The questions that were asked went unanswered, and he could tell from the undercurrent of frustration in the voices in the next room that the torturer/jailors were not satisfied with the response they were getting. He tried to send his love and support mentally to the elf in the next room while all the time thinking, _You were right about us **shemlen**, Lhaine. You were absolutely right.

_And sometime in those dark hours, rage and impotence and despair tempered and hardened Alistair Theirin, a brutal alchemy that forged in him a soul-deep resolve._**Never again**. If I manage to get out of here, no one in Ferelden will ever do this to anyone **ever again**!

_At the last, there were two loud, crunching blows and two piercing screams. The second scream had died away in a horrible gurgle and there was silence at last._

_Sometime after things had become quiet, two jailors carried a limp form in upon a blanket held by its corners. Two armed guards pushed Alistair back into the corner while Lhaine was deposited upon the floor of the cell. Then all of the jailors retreated, locking the door behind them._

_The head jailor waited at a safe distance outside the bars. "The Regent says to tell you this. This is in recompense for Teyrn Howe's death. Out of courtesy to the late King Maric's blood, _you_ have been spared. That could change, should you not prove cooperative. The Regent will make a decision about how best to deal with you after the Landsmeet. I suggest you take his commands to heart." He smiled a smile full of wolfish yellow teeth. "Have a nice evening." He departed and once he was out the door, Alistair hastened over to his friend._

_There was not as much blood as he had expected, though there was some winding carving and burns on Lhaine's chest and thighs that looked as if his torturers had been trying to mimic the vallaslin. But his legs…Alistair swallowed hard. The shins had been shattered, probably by a maul from the looks of things. _He'll never walk again, if he even keeps them at all, barring some miracle of magic. Which we don't have access to here. _And there was bruising all over Lhaine's body, huge red-purple bruises everywhere. His joints all appeared to be swollen and his hands…the fingers had been broken and dislocated. Those too would never work properly again without extensive magical healing._

_Alistair Theirin had been sheltered and protected all of his life; first by Eamon, then by the Chantry, then by Duncan. Even during these last few months of questing, Lhaine had taken the hard decisions upon himself when it became apparent that Alistair was unwilling or unable to do so. Pure, unworldly Lhaine, who had grown up in a forest among people who actually cared more for each other than they did for themselves, had shouldered the burden of understanding and dealing with the venality of the greater outside world. Had taken on the corruption of that knowledge along with the Taint. Had walked among the casteless of Dust Town and the Elves of the Alienage, the human poor of Denerim and the rural poor they'd encountered in their travels with open eyes._ "It doesn't have to be this way, Alistair," _he'd said one night as they sat at the campfire._ "It saddens me that you **shemlen** don't seem to be able to realize that."

_Now there was no shelter left, no place to hide. Alistair thought upon all the odd feelings he'd had about Lhaine, particularly over the last couple of months. The yearning to be close to him, the simple pleasure Alistair felt in his company. The growing desire to touch the smooth, golden skin. To stroke a hand over the curve of Lhaine's shoulder, across the flat, sculpted planes of the elf's belly, perhaps even lower still…The desire to kiss his lips, to breathe in his breath…Alistair's resentment and dismay at those feelings seemed stupid now, now that it was too late. Because there was hardly any place he could touch Lhaine now that would not cause pain. And because he'd seen too many battlefields not to know what the light, uneven hitch of breath, the grey pallor beneath the bruises meant._

"Falon'Din, emma melana sahlin,"_came Lhaine's rasping whisper suddenly, so faint it could scarcely be understood. _"Emma ir abelas." _Alistair gingerly traced with his fingertips the golden lines of the tattoos over brow and cheek, carefully avoiding the bruised places and was rewarded with a drowsy glint of green eyes beneath heavy lids._

_"Alistair. _Emma lath_," Lhaine croaked. "Plant a tree for me, will you, brother?"_

_"Uh, not so good at gardening here," Alistair protested. "You'd better help me." A faint smile came over Lhaine's swollen, bleeding lips. _

_"I would if I could. That is something… you'll have to do yourself, _emma vhenan'ara._"_

"Emma vhenan'ara? Emma lath_? What do they mean?" The corner of Lhaine's mouth crooked upward even further._

_"Dalish secret. Go find out." He sighed and fell silent, his eyes closing, the smile vanishing._

_"Is the knife-ear still with us?" came a mocking voice from outside the cell. Alistair looked up to see one of the under jailors leering down at them. "Wonder if he's up for another go-round. He was a great lay. But I bet you already know that, don't you? You Wardens being so _brotherly _with each other and all."_

_Red rage washed over Alistair then and he lunged up and forward._

_Behind him, he could hear Lhaine, his voice still a rasping croak but suddenly much stronger. "_Elgar'nan! **Fen**_!" And despite the lack of the Dalish's customary gesticulations and summoning, there was the usual cloud of smoke and Wolf appeared, _outside the bars, _to slam into the jailor's back. That threw him up against the bars and into Alistair's reach. Alistair didn't need his memory of what Riordan had done in Howe's dungeon. His own instinct and fury sufficed to hook an arm around the man's neck and pull until he could feel bone snap. His free hand grabbed the ring of keys from the jailor's belt before he released the dead man to fall upon the floor. Turning back to Lhaine he found the elf's eyes closed again, but a panicked closer examination showed that he was still breathing, albeit shallowly._

_Alistair had awakened in Drakon long before Lhaine had. Cauthrien had apparently clipped his Warden brother's head a good one. He'd been afraid Lhaine's skull had been cracked and had been so relieved when the elf had awakened with his wits about him. _Lhaine might have been better off **had** it been cracked. They might have left him alone until he was awake and stronger. _Alistair himself had been conscious enough to remember the humiliation of being stripped and searched, as well as their captors discussing the Teyrn's order to leave all of the Wardens' equipment intact and in the chest by the door until Loghain could make the time to inspect it. Though the battles with Howe and Cauthrien had severely depleted their store of health potions, Alistair knew he'd had a couple left-and hoped that Lhaine had as well and that they hadn't been confiscated. The keys had just made hope possible._

_He reached through the cell door, unlocked it and hurried over. By some grace the chest was not even locked! And some careful rummaging revealed five health potions unbroken down at the bottom, beneath the jumble of clothes, weapons and armor. One of them even had the ornate sigil on the wax that indicated it was one of Wynne's more potent efforts. Taking them all, he hurried back to Lhaine, knelt and carefully pulled the elf up into his lap_

_"Here, Lhaine. Drink this down."_

_With a groan, Lhaine roused then and turned his face into Alistair's chest in refusal. "No! My legs and hands would heal crooked. I couldn't fight…couldn't even walk," came his muffled response. "And you can't carry me out of here! You'll need those potions, Alistair, to escape." Amazingly, even on the brink of death he could still command. "Get armed and armored and _go_! You're one of the last two Wardens! There's still a Blight to be stopped, remember?"_

_"I can't leave you here!"_

_Lhaine turned his head back out just enough to look up and meet his Warden brother's eyes. "I'm _dead, _Alistair! Duncan would leave me in a heartbeat and you know it! Only stopping the Blight matters, remember? Now _hold by your oaths_!" His voice softened. "Starfang is yours, _emma lath. _Remember me. And I would ask one last thing of you…a last boon between brothers. _Don't leave me alive in their hands."

_"Lhaine…"_

_"_Please_, Alistair."_

_Mind shying away from what that last request would require, Alistair hastened to reassure his friend. "All right. Armoring up now." Lhaine's head moved in the tiniest of nods. Alistair laid him back down carefully, then took the his own cloak from the pile of belongings and tucked it around his friend. It was long and voluminous enough that it served very well as a blanket for the slighter, shorter elf. Putting clothes on was a relief; donning his armor and belting his sword on again even more empowering. But that elation was short-lived, since Alistair now had to make good on his promise._

_Lhaine bit back an agonized moan as Alistair pulled him back up into his now-armored lap and held him once more. Pain-filled green eyes met his own beseechingly._

"_I would count it…a very great kindness," the elf murmured._

_Alistair had not put his gauntlets on, and he stroked Lhaine's cheek gently with his fingertips, the one caress that would not hurt him unduly. "I love you, you know." _

_Another of those infinitesimal nods. "I do know," came the pained whisper. "And I you, brother."_

_It was Lhaine's belt dagger that Alistair took up then, for the blade was narrow and Lhaine kept it sharp enough to split a hair. The elf smiled a little when he saw it, and nodded before closing his eyes._

"Thank you, emma lath."

_Alistair stooped awkwardly to kiss his brow, raised the dagger and placed the point upon the blood-striped chest, tensed his arm and was about to thrust it home when he heard the baying of a mabari. Not anything unusual in this place, particularly so close to the mabari kennels. But he _knew _that particular belling bay! He froze. _

_There were other sounds now, unmistakable sounds of combat-the clang of weapons on shields and other weapons, the hiss and crackle and muted roar of magic. _Can it be? Are they actually coming after us?

"You will **fear** me!" _If anyone had ever told Alistair that the day would come when he would be glad to hear the sound of _Morrigan's _voice, he'd have laughed himself half unconscious. But there it was._

"_Oh, _praise_ the Maker!" he muttered under his breath, feeling tears of relief start in his eyes. He looked down at Lhaine, who had lapsed into unconsciousness. Letting the dagger go, he laid his fellow Warden carefully back down and got to his feet. If his friends chased any of the guards in here, he wanted to be ready._

_But no guards came charging in, only a brown, baying blur, followed by…._everyone_? Including_ Eamon_ himself?_

_The rescuers all skidded to a stop. They took in an obviously hale, armored Alistair. Eamon sighed in relief. "I'm glad to find you well, lad!"_

_But Alistair only shook his head, his face crumpling, and went to kneel beside the cloaked form so still upon the floor of the cell. Dagger had already curled himself carefully around his master's head, whining piteously. Alistair peeled the blanket back, and there was a collective gasp from the many throats assembled there as the horrific damage was revealed._

"_Maker save us!" Leliana whispered, appalled. _

_Wynne, however, wasted no time upon exclamations of dismay, kneeling immediately beside Lhaine instead. "Let me see how bad this is." She gently took up one of the pulped hands carefully by the wrist, then ran her other hand about two inches in the air above one of the crushed shins. Her face darkened._

"Heal_ him!" Alistair demanded. Wynne looked almost physically ill._

"_Alistair, he'll be crippled for life if I do that without setting these bones first. And he won't last long enough for me to do that-he's deeply in shock. And even if he weren't, to do his hands…it's beyond my skill. Would you have him live a cripple, unable even to care for himself?"_

"_That's not any kind of proper life, laddie," came Oghren's voice, gentle for once._

"_That's what he said, that he didn't and he wanted to end it. But you're here now! Surely there's something you can do?" the young Warden asked the older mage plaintively. Wynne shook her head sadly._

"_There are some things that are beyond my power."_

"_There's a spell in my mother's grimoire," Morrigan put in of a sudden, looking uncomfortable. "A spell for setting bones before healing them. I've looked at it. It brings even the smallest pieces back into line. I could teach you, Wynne."_

"_He doesn't have enough time left for that, Morrigan. If you have that spell, then _you _will have to cast it."_

"_I am no healer!"_

"_You will have to be, if you want him to live," Wynne said simply._

"Please_, Morrigan," Alistair pleaded._

_She shot him a contemptuous look, but came over and knelt beside the spirit healer, surveying Lhaine's injuries with darkening eyes. Her manner was as tentative and uncertain as Alistair had ever seen it._

"_What are you waiting for, girl?" Wynne growled, in a manner most unlike her usual gentle one, "A royal invitation?"_ She sounds a lot like Flemeth all of a sudden, _Alistair realized._

_And certainly Morrigan seemed to find the comment bracing. Her head snapped around, and she scowled angrily at the Circle mage for a moment. Then she turned back to Lhaine, her expression almost sorrowful._

"_Always men seek to destroy that which is wild and free and beautiful," she muttered, her black brows drawing down, her mouth tightening with resolve. _"Always_!_" _Then her hands lifted and began to gesticulate and she raised her voice, ancient Arcanum spilling from her lips, the anger throbbing beneath it easily heard._

Only **Morrigan** would have to get angry to do a healing spell! _Alistair thought as he watched anxiously._

_Although this did not seem to be a typical healing spell. The light that began to crawl over Lhaine's form was red, not blue. As Morrigan continued to chant, it intensified, shining brightest in the areas of the greatest damage, his hands and lower legs. But there was an area of lesser luminosity along his ribs as well, indicating that some of them had probably been cracked at the very least._

_The spell reached its climax, the red light flaring bright. There was a sickening sound of grinding bone. Lhaine's eyes shot open and he screamed, his body arching up from the floor. Then he fell back, totally limp. Alistair reached for his friend's throat, frightened that the elf had succumbed. He was relieved to find a faint and fluttering pulse._

_The very moment the red aura vanished, a bright blue one suffused the area. _

"_Maker!" Alistair heard Eamon exclaim._

_Wynne's hands were held a foot above Lhaine and she was glowing blue-white in a way Alistair had only seen once before. _She's drawing on the spirit!

_He did not remember it being that bright the last time she'd done it. Wynne's form was almost totally obscured in the incandescence. The blue healing energies swirled and pulsed around Lhaine for a long moment, flared brilliantly, then abruptly ceased. The old mage toppled sideways, to be caught by Zevran before her head hit the floor._

"_A magical bosom indeed," the Antivan said softly. "Morrigan?" The Wilder witch was already surveying Lhaine. His more superficial injuries had been completely healed. The shattered shin bones were straight once more, and his hands seemed to have the fingers more or less correctly aligned._

"_We will need to splint him when we get him out of here, the healed breaks are still fragile," she muttered. Her hand went to his throat for a moment and she leaned closer to listen to his breath. "But he's stronger now than he was. I think we can move him."_

"_We have to, regardless," Eamon said. "We need to get out of here before reinforcements come."_

"_I will carry the elder mage," Shale declared, scooping Wynne up with surprising gentleness._

"_I have the _kadan_," Sten said. "Give me his weapons and armor as well." They took some moments to gather up Lhaine's belongings and bundle them into his cloak, fastening a rude pack. Sten shouldered it, then slid his arms beneath Lhaine ever so carefully, and lifted him up, still wrapped in Alistair's cloak._

"_I cannot fight like this. The rest of you will have to do it," he said, his red-violet gaze focused doubtfully on Alistair._

_To the Qunari's surprise, he was not met with the usual waffling or indecisiveness, but rather a toffee-gold look of absolute conviction._

"_On it," was all Alistair Theirin said._


End file.
